


A pinch of abnormality

by Cysteina



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cysteina/pseuds/Cysteina
Summary: Post-game. Michael has to fix his life once again.
Relationships: Franklin Clinton/Tracey De Santa, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: whenhumansthinkofhospitality. Thank you! ♥

"All for nothing, Michael," sighed Amanda over her salad. He looked at her without understanding. He pushed a piece of steak to his mouth and he gave her time to continue. "I’m talking about us."

He froze. And then he started to choke.

"What?," he uttered. She watched him with anxiety mixed with tiredness.

"We tried," she said gloomily. "We tried and it didn’t work."

"What is this?" he tried again, feeling a higher flutter.

"We burnt out, Mikey." Amanda’s face was full of pain but also resoluteness. "Don’t tell me that you didn’t notice."

He wanted to release words which he had on mind – to protest. And then he opened his mouth and… he didn’t say a word.

She was right. Shit, she was right. Maybe half a year ago it was  _ acceptable _ , but now… No, they were back to the same place. To routine.

It was a year since they had robbed Union Depository and had killed everyone who could kill him, Franklin or Trevor. After all of this he hardly worked with Amanda to make their marriage better. For some time they were actually fine. Beside that Michael started to cooperate with Solomon and they made movies together. So he didn’t complain about his career too.

Tracey studied in a college. Everyone was sure that she’d choose something like photography, acting or journalism. Hell, no. His girl shocked the whole family, when she said she was going to do IT. Well, Michael shouldn’t be  _ that _ surprised. All of them shouldn’t be. Actually, Tracey spent every second with her notebook (with regular breaks for the phone) and that’s why it made sense. She looked pleased with it – and it’s the most important thing, right?

Jimmy found a job. Well, he didn’t have to search too far. He worked in a car workshop belonging to Franklin. And, probably, Lamar too. It turned out that he had a knack for that, after he’d learnt everything. He smoked just occasionally. So everything was okay there too.

So it was Michael who fucked up things (as always). That life was good only for a moment. He started to stagnate half a year after The Big One. Everything was bad: whisky, sitting in front of the TV the whole day, boredom. And whores. And cheating. In fact, he was hiding with it and it happened rarely, but anyway.

So it came down to this – Amanda was right and he fucked up. And her face expressed exactly every of these thoughts.

"So what do you think we should do?," he asked quietly, feeling a little afraid of an answer.

Amanda leaned toward him with a kind of miserable face.

"I have someone," she said and Michael’s whole world suddenly whirled.

"What?," he wheezed again. This time he felt anger. Amanda hesitated visibly. "What the fuck? How? Who?"

The women winced.

"Stop dramatizing, Michael," she growled. "You have your bitches, so I found someone too. Is this really  _ that _ incredible?"

"I don’t fucking care about bitches!," he shouted and some people looked at them. "Who is he? Who did you sleep with?"

"Yeah, sure, I’ll tell you, really," she sneered. "And you will go and shoot him in the head, thank you so much. Besides, you’re not a good person to judge me. Your whores are the proof. I’m not stupid, you know?"

He sensibly didn’t say a word. She was right again.

"How could you do this to me?," he asked quieter, feeling higher melancholy. He had to drink. Now.

"I love you, Michael," she replied painfully and he snorted. "Yes, I love you. But I’m not happy with you. It’s overwhelming. We tried, okay, but it didn’t work. It’s not like that with him. He’s… exactly who I need. And that’s why I can’t live longer like that. Like everything would be normal."

Of course, they moved away from each other. And it went so far that he was surprised when she asked him for dinner. In fact, he could expect many things. For example, she would go away from home for a couple weeks and leave him alone in the house. But he wouldn’t suppose that she…

"So what?" Words were painful in his throat. "You want a div…"

No, he couldn’t finish shit. Fuck, what kind of a serial killer was he?

"A divorce," she said instead of him. "Yes. I want a divorce. If you agree, I’ll get the papers for a week. And we should discuss about the house. If you want, we can share a house for a half and we can…"

He realized that he was shaking his head but it didn’t happen by his will. It was like somebody else did this and he just stood there and watched this.

"No," he replied flatly. "Keep the house. I’ll move out."

He couldn’t live with her in one house and watch her happiness wish somebody else. Fuck, he still loved her. And that’s why pain would be unbearable. He had to move out. He wanted to do this one more thing for her. Because he still cared about her.

"Are you sure?" She watched him with hesitation. "Because if you’re not…"

"I’m sure."

He wasn’t. He didn’t want to move out. Yes, of course, the kids were mature and that’s why it wasn’t about them. Tracey lived in college and Jim moved out to the apartment that Michael had bought him one day. And for what? He couldn't stay in this house when Amanda wanted to move on with her life.

"Michael," she started. "Please, don’t do anything stupid."

"I won’t," he replied. "I promise. I’ll start to look for an apartment today. Don’t worry, Amanda," he added quickly, when he saw her face. "I know I fucked up… again. I owe you this. I will be okay."

There’s one good thing from therapy with Friedlander; he could evaluate his feelings and put them into words correctly, now.

She hesitated once more and then smiled unsteadily. She reached for his hand and she squeezed it. He looked at their laced fingers. There were many memories connected with this gesture. They were holding hand when he tried to stop her after an erotic dance. They were holding hands during their first kiss. They were holding hands when they made love at night, watching each other, inside and outside.

"Thank you," she said with this shy smile. He tried to reciprocate but it was too painful. Because she was right two years ago. When she said that he would be alone one day. He thought that someone shot him earlier.

He was wrong.

xxx

"Is it your fault?," asked Jimmy with disbelief. "Do you fuck up again?"

Michael wanted to answer him, but Amanda was first.

"We both fucked up," she said to shocked kids. "Your dad is who he is. And I found someone new."

"And you can’t fix this?," asked Tracey, unhappy. "Like the last time?"

Amanda shook her head.

"I’m sorry, baby, but not this time."

"It won’t affect you," affirmed Michael. "You don’t live here, so you’ll be okay with it. You can still always come to me or your mom. Whenever you’ll need us. I’ll give you the keys to my new apartment, so actually nothing will change at all."

Who did he try to deceive?

"Are you sure that it will be better?" Tracey still looked unconvinced.

Then Amanda started to tell her some nonsense. He didn’t know exactly, about what, because he completely turned off. The most important thing was the fact that kids stopped looking at him accusingly.

Oh, and beside that, his life was completely ruined.

xxx

Two days later he sat on a balcony in his new apartment with a glass of whisky. Well, he had everything. The flat was properly stocked with many luxuries. It was on the twentieth floor of the new apartment building in Vinewood Hills. He had a perfect view of Los Santos and also the ocean. Fucking awesome.

Yeah. Right. And he tried again to tell himself that it was satisfying. And  _ that _ was the world he fought for a half of his life? Did he fuck Trevor and Brad over  _ for this _ ? God, he’d rather have died someday in the past. He didn’t have to go through all of this.

Ironic. He had  _ everything _ . Money, fame, anything he wanted. And he didn’t find them joyful. All of the activities were deprived of sense. He could drink hectoliters of whisky, fuck hundreds of whores and it would be still without a sense.

Maybe he needed adrenaline. Passion. Maybe he missed his old life. The life he lost twelve years earlier and he reminded that when he met Franklin. Also Trevor appeared in his life again and this was… overwhelming. He tasted that again, he was in this again and he didn’t want to go out.

For these couple of months he felt  _ alive _ . He felt that every breath had sense, that he fought about something important, that he searched something important. That he could die in every moment. And that turned him on. 

Yeah, he was completely insane. But who wasn’t in this city?

He took a sip of whisky, feeling the tart taste on his tongue. Perhaps he could react sharply to the idea of a divorce. Couple years ago it would be exactly like that. But now? After all they’ve been through? No, it had no sense. He fucked up, again. And an adult should take consequences when he fucked something up. Besides, he was tired of this. Time to let Amanda move on and let himself go for something new.

He jumped when he heard the phone's ring. In the moment he wanted to ignore it. Then he thought that it could be one of his kids and he grabbed the phone.

Well, he actually didn’t make a mistake. It was Franklin.

"Hey, Michael, how you doin’, man?," he heard. He knew that voice.

"You know," he stated.

Soft sigh.

"I know, man, I know."

"Who told you?" Oh, that was quite funny.

"Tracey, I guess," said Franklin. "And then Jimmy. They worry ‘bout you, bro."

"They don’t have to," he replied and he drank some whisky again. "I’m fine."

He heard a significant silence on the other side.

"Yeah, man," Frank finally said. "Wanna go for a drink? I’m bored."

It’s not like he hadn't been seeing Franklin since The Big One. Sure, they were meeting regularly. Kid was coming to them for dinner and he was a friend of Jimmy and Tracey. Michael didn't have a reason to refuse him. And who knows, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad?

"Why not?," he muttered. "So where do we meet?"

"I’ll pick you up in a half an hour," promised Frank and he disconnected.

Oh, fantastic. It seemed like kids gave him Michael’s new address. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised – they all were rather close.

Franklin arrived thirty seven minutes later. He didn’t have anything to do, so he watched his clock. Well. It wasn't reasonable. Not for something in his age. It’s almost like counting to his own elderly age. Or death.

"Jesus, man, I’m depressed just because of seeing you," told the kid when he saw him. Michael snorted and gave him a high five.

"I always can count on your good word," he replied and Franklin laughed. But he didn’t stop watching him with concern, so Michael felt uncomfortable. Did he really look that bad?

Franklin got into the car and he moved his hand through his face. He didn’t feel any abnormalities. What were they talking about?

He got in the front seat and they drove. For a long moment any of them didn’t say anything. Yeah, they’ve never been a babbling type. But this time this was… hard. Too hard.

He turned to Franklin and he saw that kid was watching him. He looked at him with a question.

"Man, I’m taking you to watch some tits," Franklin firmly said and Michael opened his mouth. "I won’t discuss with you, bro."

He raised his hands in a protective gesture.

"As you wish."

It was something about eight, so there was a little crowd in Vanilla Unicorn. The security guard nodded to Franklin and then he stared at Michael and his face was brightened by a smile.

"Michael? Michael De Santa? Dude, long time no see!"

He forced himself to smile.

"Good to see you, buddy."

Luckily, Franklin pushed him inside before the guard asked about something else. With a little of reminiscence, he stared inside the club. They were planning all of the details of The Big One. Fuck, that was one of the best periods in his life.

And then he saw a platform with a stripper on it. She was hung on a pole and it felt like someone hit him in the stomach. In a moment, he saw North Yankton, the strip club and Amanda in the same position. Her magic and charms. Her tempting stare. His desire to do everything for her in one moment. Her…

"Michael?," Franklin poked him with an elbow. "Go and get the table. I’ll go grab drinks."

He nodded automatically and went to the nearest free table. He sat heavily and looked a little dolorously to a dancing stripper. So he finished like that. Here, where he started.

Maybe that was a mistake – to come there. He could stay at home and drink whisky. Alone. Or eventually invite Frank to him. Although… he could refuse him. Idiot. All of them were idiots.

Until he’s able to feel sorry for himself and his destiny, he heard Franklin’s voice.

"Man, I dunno if this is a good moment. I’m not alone here, man."

And then he heard the other voice, familiar as fuck.

"I don’t care about Lamar or Jimmy, you know. If you think that I’ve never seen a group jerking, then you’re wrong, Frank."

Michael raised his head and his stare crossed with Trevor’s stare. Philips suddenly stopped. Franklin watched carefully to both of them and then he stood, glasses with drinks on a platter.

"Hey, just don’t start anything," warned the kid and Michael winced. Trevor rolled his eyes.

"You look like someone fucked you, Mikey," stated Philips. "Or maybe… fucked you up."

"Oh, bite me," snarled Michael. Of course, he fucking needed  _ this _ right now.

Trevor looked at him without any spite. Then Franklin sat on the chair next to Michael. After the moment of hesitation, Trevor sat with them too.

Wonderful. Like old, good times.

"Man, he’s getting divorced," said Franklin. "Maybe today just chill the fuck out."

Trevor froze and then he leaned toward them. Thanks to this Michael could have better look at him. He looked… tidier? He’s wearing a loose, stretched shirt with tucked up sleeves and jeans and he was almost… human. He still has many scars on his face, but none of them was really fresh. And he didn’t stink anything but beer.

Weird. Completely weird.

"So you finally got a grip, huh?," murmured Trevor, looking kind of pleased. Fuck, no, he’s still the same psychopath. People didn’t change.

"Yeah, rather Amanda did." He winced. "She found somebody else. I moved out."

Trevor’s eyes widened a bit. Then he deflated in his chair and burst into laughter. Some people looked at them with a moderate interest, but Michael didn’t care about that.

And what the fuck was  _ that _ funny?

"All righty," gasped Trevor, when he finally calmed down. "Come with me. I’ll give you an antidote."

Michael looked at Franklin with a question, but the kid shrugged his shoulders. Then Trevor disappeared somewhere in the crowd. Michael downed his drink and both him and Franklin went behind Trevor.

"What does he want to do?," he asked Franklin.

"I dunno, bro," said the kid. "I’m not in his fucking head. Come on."

They came to Trevor, who just embraced one of the strippers.

"Cheetah, baby, this guy here is in real shit," he told to the girl and she looked at Michael with fucking  _ understanding _ . "Will you cheer him up?"

The stripper smiled and took Michael’s arm.

"Come on, sugar," she sang. "You’ll forget about everything."

As Michael let her take him to one of the private rooms, he heard a short conversation.

"Dude, are you sure that’s a good idea?," asked Franklin.

"Trust one of your daddies, baby," replied Trevor. "We’ll see."

Then Michael's world was reduced to a young body, full of silicone. At first he tried to relax that whole situation. He always appreciated a good show, especially private dances. Cheetah was cute, tiny blonde and really, really she had everything she needed.

And, one more time, he had everything. And, one more time, he thought that that sucked.

The women in front of him started to change and became different. Bright hair turned darker, eyes occurred a different color and shape. He stopped his breath when he realized he was watching the younger version of Amanda. That version from their past, that version he married. That version for who he left his old life.

He budged and he wanted to hold her, stay with her. And then the mirage of Amanda disappeared and he was watching Cheetah dance again.

And then he felt angry.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. In one moment he sat in an armchair and then suddenly he held the girl's throat. She cried, broke out, scratched him wherever she could. And he growled like a psychopath, like a maniac, like fucking  _ Trevor _ .

"Give me Amanda back, give me her back,  _ give her back _ …"

"Michael!"

Someone took his hand from the girl’s throat. He started to choke and desperately caught her breath. Then he realized that Franklin held him tight. At the same time Trevor checked Cheetah’s condition. Somewhere behind them was her guard and he apparently wanted to break his jaw or something.

"He’s a psycho!," she cried with tears in her eyes.

"I’ll give you something extra to your papers," told Trevor calmly. "And you’ll just forget ‘bout it." The girl opened her mouth to protest, but Trevor lowered his voice. "You don’t want to make me angry, sugar. You’ll  _ forget _ about it, right?"

She tightened her lips, but she nodded obediently. Surely she knew of the condition of Trevor’s mind, so she did it because she was afraid of him. Well… it seemed like he wasn’t the best person to judge Trevor and call him a psycho. What he did was evidence of that.

"Man, what the fuck?," asked Franklin with disbelief.

"I’m sorry," he stuttered, suddenly overwhelmed by a situation. And frightened. Shit, they all were right. He was broken.

Fantastic. Like the whole world was telling him to fuck off.

"It’s worse than I thought," said Trevor. "We’re going to my place. I got the beer."

He couldn’t protest, he was too weak for this. He couldn’t say that he didn’t want to go to Sandy Shores. He didn’t give a fuck. He just let them push him in Franklin’s car and he sat there powerless. At least an idea of getting drunk wasn’t so awful. He probably fucking  _ needed _ this.

The whole road they were silent. The only sound was heard from the radio. It wasn’t the gangsta rap what made Michael brisk. It happened when they didn’t turn into the alley to Trevor’s trailer.

"Aren’t we going to your place?," asked Michael. Trevor didn’t look touched.

"The trailer is now the headquarters of Trevor Philips Industries," he replied. "I live a couple houses further."

Michael winked, tried to assimilate that information. It was weirder and weirder. What happened with Trevor from half a year earlier? He was… different.

Franklin stopped in front of the most  _ normal _ house that Michael has ever seen. It wasn’t too well-kept, but it wasn’t a ruin too. It was just an ordinary building.

Totally not like Trevor.

Philips got out from the car and watched Michael with a weird face. Frank did the same thing too. Jesus, it wasn’t him who was a freak there!

Oh, okay. He was. But he wasn’t the only one!

"Are we going or not," he muttered, reminding him of a sudden need to drink. Trevor waved his hand to the house.

"Come in."

It was… clean inside. That was the first thing Michael noticed. Clean walls, no stench, no dead bodies. That made him feel dizzy. He felt suspicious. It had to be a trap. Because it was impossible that Trevor just changed. Totally unrealistic.

"Shoes!"

Michael hopped at the sudden snarl. From one of the rooms came a short woman, who looked at them ominously. She kept her hands on her hips; in one of them she held a cloth. She looked very young. She had dark hair and bright blue eyes, now squinted in irritation.

Michael was shocked, when Franklin took off his shoes and put them neatly against the wall without a word. Trevor looked at the woman and… he took his shoes too. Michael realized that his mouth was opened, so he closed them. The woman stared ominously at him again, so he untied the laces and took his shoes too.

"Yo, Jul," said friendly Franklin and he went through the corridor. Then he disappeared in one of the rooms. It seemed like he knew the place well. And it was something like an escape.

"Yeah, fuck you, Frank." The woman waved her hand. "Trevor, I warn you, you’ll get rid of this body from the kitchen."

"It’s your work, babe." Trevor shrugged. If looks could kill, he would be long dead – thanks to the stranger woman.

" _ You _ got it here and  _ you _ will throw it away," she hissed.

Michael realized that his mouth was opened again.

"Did you get married?" he asked, voice strangled with astonishment. Trevor raised his eyebrows and the woman started to laugh, shortly and suddenly.

"Are you out of your mind, man?" She laughed again and Trevor smiled mockingly.

"You jealous, Mikey?" snorted Philips.

"Fuck off," he grunted, feeling like he missed something.

"She’s my maid," said Trevor and the woman raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. The arms were painted with tattoos, but it was too dark there and he didn’t see the patterns. "She’s pleasing me."

"Trevor, are you drugged again?" she asked sharply and then turned to Michael. "I work here. I mean, he’s paying me to control this fuckhole."

Philips looked at her with something like a challenge.

"So, it’s equal – Jennifer is my maid," he said.

"You fucking know my name is  _ Julie _ , fucker," she hissed with an unshakable face.

"Actually I change them sometimes and she’s the fifth…"

"The seventh," she corrected him. "And I’m the only one who endures this whole shit. For now. The rest ran away or was killed by him."

"Typical," muttered Michael, making Julie smirk. "I’m Mich…"

"De Santa, yes," she interrupted him. "Or actually, Townley. I know. By the way, I thought you'd be fatter. Because of what they said."

"Leave me out of this, sis!" shouted Franklin from the other room. Trevor and Julie rolled their eyes almost at the same time.

"Come on." Philips pulled Michael to the room, where Clinton was. "And you, babe, bring us some beer from the kitchen. That will be a long night."

Julie snorted, but she moved back in the corridor. Michael went behind Trevor, still trying to understand everything. Trevor had a new house. A servant. Tidiness. He was well-kept. What. The. Fuck. Was. Happening. Was it some kind of joke or what?

But… no. Trevor was still Trevor. The body in the kitchen, which Julie mentioned, was a final proof.

He looked around the room. The TV (just a little bit scratched from one side, beside this without any marks of trials of destroying it) was hung on the wall opposite a big couch (where Franklin sat). There were also two armchairs and a table. The walls were rather bare but only a couple posters with naked girls.

Trevor clapped on the chair with a bored face. Michael searched for worms, rests of food or used condoms and then, with hesitation, he sat next to Franklin (who was clicking something on his phone).

Julie entered the room. She set a box of beer on the table and looked expectantly to Trevor. He grabbed three bottles and gave them to her.

"You lost your hands in fucking Vietnam?" she snorted, but she started opening the beer. "Sometimes I wonder how you lived without me."

"So don’t wonder, because your head will overheat," replied Trevor and took the opened bottles. Then he gave one each to Michael and Franklin. "And now you can make some striptease for gentlemen."

Michael looked at Julie. She was skinny, but muscled, she had long, dark hair and pale skin, which contrasted with many tattoos. Her forearms had two different paintings – on the left was a bear and the pattern on the right made it look like cyborg’s arm. The sleeves of the shirt she had on covered a little tattoos on arms – on the left it was Death, on the right it was a dagger with a snake and a rose. From the neckline was a little bit of an artistic anchor. The shirt reached her to the navel, so he could see a dragon and a gun on her stomach. She was wearing shorts and flip flops, so he could see that her left thigh was painted similar to the right forearm. The right thigh was covered in a typical steampunk pattern. The calves were relatively clear, but there was something too. The right calf had imitated scars from claws and the left – a spider. On the feet she had a lizard and a rose.

The woman’s body had a lot of scars too. She had a pale complexion, so scars weren't too visible, but Michael perfectly knew  _ these _ kinds of marks. That’s why he saw where she was stabbed or shot. And he counted quite a lot. Not more than him or Trevor, but anyway.

And she was kind of sexy. Michael had no idea where Trevor found that girl. And the basic question was:  _ why did she _ agree for that job?

"You can dream," she replied carelessly. "Oh, and if you puke all over the room, you’ll fucking lick it up. Have fun."

She turned to the door. She had a ponytail, so Michael could see the next rose on her neck. From the shirt, at the level of the loins, protruded thin lines. Something like… feathers?

"Yeah, she has wings on her back," confirmed loudly Trevor, when Julie closed the door. "But don’t be so horny, Mikey. You’re not her type."

"I’m not horny," lied Michael. "So what, you’re her type?"

Franklin raised his head upon the phone.

"Ain't none of us is her type, man. That chick is a lesbian."

"Not lesbian. She’s bi," corrected Trevor. He smiled cunningly when Michael and Franklin looked at him with a question. "Yes, I checked. She prefers pussies, but she doesn’t exclude cocks."

"Fucker!" Franklin laughed shortly and he drank a beer.

After a couple of bottles Michael  _ finally _ chilled out a bit. He still had something heavy on his chest, but the pressure kind of… disappeared. Then he sat, full of blissful peace and he had fun from ordinary talk to completely light things.

"I think I should leave for a while," he said some time later upon the bottle. "You know, I like this city, but I have to go and take a breath."

"Man, I know the feeling," sighed Franklin. "Lots of times I wanted to go, but there’s a lot of shit to do. I’ll fucking fuck this and I’ll take someone to the trip."

"So where are you gonna take your daddies?," asked Trevor, playing lazily with a bottle. Franklin raised his eyebrows and he looked at him with amusement.

"I’m thinking ‘bout someone else, man. I heard your fucking crying too much, so I guess it’s fucking enough." Michael and Trevor opened their mouths at the same time. "Oh, no, don’t fucking even start, homies. Better tell me, where you were except North Yankton. I’ve always been in LS, and my cousin lives in Liberty City right now."

Michael looked at Trevor and he nodded at him with a parody of a derisive salute.

"I saw a couple of places," he admitted. "You know that I was born on the East Coast. Sometime later I had my first job in Carcer City. It wasn’t too far to Capital City or Liberty City, so I had little jobs there too."

"I’ve seen only Liberty," added Trevor. "I even lived there for a while. It was after 2004." He looked pointedly at Michael. He started listening more carefully. It was part of Trevor’s life he didn’t know about. "But I moved out when it started to be hot because of this Serbian."

"Niko Bellic," realized Michael. "Right, Lester told me about him. Were you afraid of one, little European guy, T?"

Trevor twitched his mouth mockingly.

"Were you afraid of a couple little Feds, M?," he replied and Michael felt the anger coming. Oh, fuck, home, sweet home.

"Okay, okay, homies," calmed them Frank, as always. "I heard Bellic got quiet when he killed his girlfriend’s murderers. They say he moved out and now in Liberty is calmer. My cousin told me, man."

Michael shrugged.

"Maybe. Bellic was the first who made a mess after 2001, when Claude was running that city."

"Claude?" repeated Franklin. "You’re talking about that Claude who blew the fuck out of most of the Colombian Cartel, man?"

"The same one," confirmed Michael.

"Claude was a psychopath." added Trevor.

"It’s funny, because  _ you _ say this." Michael couldn’t restrain.

"Frank, fuck this divorce, I’ll fucking punch him in the face."

"Michael," said reproachfully Franklin. "What was later, man? I won’t fucking hear your childish argues, nigga. It’s fucking boring, man."

Suddenly, Michael felt embarrassed. And then he looked at Trevor and he realized with a shock, that Trevor  _ really _ tried to be normal. Fuck, everything wasn’t the same anymore. Could the situation really change that much for a half year? For fucks sake, Trevor was a psychopath, for sure!

He sighed.

"When I was twenty four, I got a job in the North. I had to fly through a border with cargo. Nothing special, small job, perfect for a middle-advanced kid like me." He sighed again and then he waved his hand for Trevor. "And there I met him."

Frank raised his eyebrows.

"And?"

" _ And, and _ ," mocked Trevor. "Everything was fucked, when we clapped one fucker who wanted to trick us."

"It was our first kill," continued Michael. "I guess we were puking like cats. And then we had to get rid of the body."

"And then we didn’t see each other for a while," added Trevor. Michael smiled a little.

"Yes. I had to go to Vice City later. There were rumors that it was the best place to learn a profession. And, actually, I learned a lot there. Couple tiny jobs and then we had something bigger. Big score, with two Irish we had to rob a bank in a Little Havana. Something fucked up, one of our people backed away and we’re out of cash. We didn’t mess up too much, so we wanted to stay and enjoy the city. We went to the club and there…" Michael waved his hand again. "I met him."

Frank looked at Philips.

"And what were _ you _ doing there, man?," asked the kid.

"I was at the concert of freshly reunited Love Fist," answered Trevor carelessly. "I went to Pole Position Club, I was sitting on a bar and I was watching girls. And then some guy sat next to me, shaved almost bald, with his tongue almost hanging out his mouth."

"My tongue wasn't hanging out!" protested Mike, in shock that Trevor remembered his haircut from the past.

"No?" mocked Trevor. "You always had your weakness for strippers. Anyway, he sat next to me. I recognized him. He was a pussy, so I saw that SMG, sticking him out of his fucking trousers. No discretion at all."

"I wasn’t…"

"Don’t fucking interrupt me!," growled Trevor. "You make this history a fucking romantic comedy without a happy end, so I’m speaking. I told him that I saw this gun in his pants and he leaned to me and said something like:  _ And what do you want to do about it, buddy? _ "

Frank made a face.

"You’re right, man," he said to Philips. "Maybe it’s not like a fucking romantic comedy. It’s more like an introduction to a fucking gay porn."

Michael, who actually was drinking a beer, started to choke. As through a haze he heard a rough Trevor’s laugh. Franklin pat him between the shoulder blades and he chuckled.

"Don’t fucking do this again," wheezed Michael, when he finally got his breath again and he wiped his face. "Unless you want me to die."

"Tempting," murmured Trevor, but Michael ignored him.

"I’ll tell him what’s next," he said. "Trevor didn’t report me. He told me his life story instead. About why he was expelled from the Canadian army and all that shit. I even don’t remember how I could be that stupid, but we got along. Trevor has his contact in Vice, so we didn’t leave the city without anything. Maybe it wasn’t a bank, but still something."

Franklin frowned.

"What did you rob?"

"A jewelry store. It was three times smaller than Vangelico, but, well. We had a problem – what to do with the loot. We didn't have anyone smart for special tasks, so we had to keep everything. We were waiting until everything was quieter."

Michael smiled with a little sentiment. Old, good times. They were young and naïve. Total greenhorns without any experience or imagination. They weren’t planning, they just went and did what they had to. Him, Trevor and Irish.

"And then?"

"We left for a while in Vice," answered Trevor instead of Michael. "The city was rebuilding after Vercetti’s terror. Have you ever heard about Vercetti, Frank?"

"I think so, man." Clinton tilted his head slightly. "He fucked the whole Vice, right? Everyone kneeled in front of him. The eighties Devin Weston."

"Exactly," nodded Michael. "In our times Vercetti was the man from children’s nightmares. He sat in a jail in Liberty for killing eleven people and in 1986 he flew to Vice. There he killed whoever the fuck he wanted – a boss of a Forelli family and Diaz, king of cocaine. And on this he built his empire and he almost destroyed the city."

"So what happened?"

"Vercetti was down." Michael rubbed his jaw. "In 1997, at night, someone broke into his mansion, killed a lot of his people and he cut his throat."

"I meant: what the fuck happened with  _ you _ , man?" corrected Franklin.

"Oh. We did some drugs and robbed in Vice. And when we were bored, we drove to the West."

"You never been back to Liberty?"

"Oh, Mikey was a little done there." Trevor smiled maliciously. "He skipped this little detail. You know, two verdicts, couple of banks and shops… Mike, in fact, ran away from them. He always had an inclination for that."

Michael looked at him with irritation.

"It’s not important," he said. "We came to the south of the country and we stayed for a while at Anywhere City."

"Where, because of Michael, we were fucked up with Yakuza," added Trevor. Michael rolled his eyes. "Of course, it was all about the stripper, because  _ Mike has a weakness for them _ , right, sugartits?"

"Fuck you, Trevor," snarled Michael.

"Oh, you wish!" Trevor was visibly amused. "The stripper was the girl of Yakuza’s boss. Luckily – oh, and  _ they _ were lucky – the leader hadn’t seen this. His people told him about it. We ran away in time. But they had recordings from the club cams. In this situation we had to say goodbye to Irish. They had a shit in their pants, We shared a loot, they hid somewhere in Anywhere and Mike and I left alone."

"Shit, man," said Franklin. "What a crap. How did you make it?"

Michael smiled.

"We’ve met some old, fat, lame nerd. Who, by an accident, was the fucking genius with electronics and strategy. I guess you know who I’m talking about."

Franklin snorted.

"Lester."

"Yes. When we promised him the part of the loot, which we couldn’t sell, he modified the records from the club and Yakuza’s database to make them search for someone else. And he directed the attention of all the gang from Anywhere City to the rising star of terror – to Claude Speed."

"Claude Speed?" repeated surprised Franklin. "Who, the fuck, is Claude Speed?"

"Actually some of the people say that Claude Speed and Claude from Liberty City are the same person," explained Mike. "Speed had to make a mess in Anywhere – which, hell, was true – and then fake his own death and go to Liberty. In this story are many missing elements. Claude had a lover, Catalina, from San Andreas and he traveled with her through the US. We know nothing about any correlations of Claude Speed. From the other side, Yakuza was expanding its influence to Liberty City and Speed had a conflict with them. So he could run to Liberty to eliminate Yakuza too. All of it was guesswork. Claude and Claude Speed are probably just two different people."

There was a moment of silence. Franklin visibly thought about his words.

"Okay, man," Clinton said finally. "So Lester made a diversion. What was later, homie?"

"Lester arranged us a transport to the North."

"To North Yankton," guessed Franklin.

"To North Yankton," sighed Trevor. "The best years of our lives, kid. Of course, everything has its end."

Michael tried to ignore a meaningful stare from Trevor.

"Lester sold our loot there and he laundered money. Sometime later we met Brad. You know the rest of the story."

"Not quite," interjected Trevor. "I’m curious, what were you doing  _ after _ 2004? Where did Norton take you and your family?"

Michael sighed.

"The first was San Fierro," he replied. "It’s the calmest city I know. And I think the best if you want to start from the beginning. We were there for a while and then Dave moved us out to Las Venturas."

"You lived in  _ Venturas _ ?," asked surprised Franklin. Trevor watched him with asking too. Michaels mouth budged.

"Shortly, but yeah. It’s the most dissolute city I know, really. But Dave quickly moved us out to Los Santos. Permanently."

Trevor whistled.

"FIB has good awards for their snakes," he said.

"You fucking know I had no choice!" growled Michael. "I had to protect my family!"

"And what did you get back?," mocked Trevor. "The divorce in your middle age. Yeah. Only your kids finally moved on with their lives. Of course not thanks to you."

"Enough!" yelled Franklin and both of them jumped. "I wanna fucking puke because of this. If I leave you for a moment, you’ll fucking kill each other." There was a silent moment, heavy and thick. "I bet you’ve heard ‘bout CJ?"

Michael quickly stared at Trevor, who looked completely crestfallen. So exactly the same as Michael.

"I’ve never had the chance."

"I’m not interested in anyone if it’s not related to me," growled protectively Trevor.

"You’re so lame." Franklin laughed shortly. "Okay, I’ll tell you." He hesitated for a moment. "But you  _ do _ know who Carl Johnson was?"

Trevor took the next three bottles and he started to open them.

"Don’t make idiots of us," he said. "At least not from me. Mike already  _ is _ an idiot, so, you know."

" _ Stop _ ," hissed Franklin, because Michael was opening his mouth to answer. "Fine. So CJ had three brothers and a sister. The oldest, Sweet, quickly became a boss of Grove Street. These times The Families were fighting with Ballas and Vagos. The second was Carl. He didn’t want to take a part in a gang war."

"Like someone we know," added Michael.

"Like me," nodded Franklin. "The third was Kendl. She didn’t like the whole gang part too, so she often ran away from the hood. The youngest was Brian. He wanted to be like Sweet, but he was closest to Carl. They lived with their mother in Ganton in 1987. Them Ballas dogs killed Brian and Sweet blamed CJ for this. CJ moved out for five years to Liberty City and he came back when their mother was killed."

"Ballas too?" asked Trevor and Franklin rolled his eyes.

"I don’t fucking know, how the fuck you don’t know the greatest story in this city, man," he sighed. "Anyway, CJ came back for his mother’s funeral. He thought he would stay in LS for a while. Sweet didn’t want to hear ‘bout this. But CJ finally convinced him to himself. But then the shit came out. CJ discovered who killed his mother – cops with his hood homies. Then there was a shooting under the highway junction. Sweet almost died and he was taken to jail. Cops took Carl and got him to Whetstone."

"What for? To the wild?" Trevor was surprised. "There’s nothing there! Even fucking conditions to the drug trade!"

Michael cleared his throat.

"It’s weird  _ you’re _ saying this – just look at this place!"

He snarled mockingly, when Trevor stared at him murderous.

"Dogs had to get rid of someone, so they forced CJ to do it for them. He was in Whetstone for a while. People say that he even raced with Claude and Catalina. Then he moved to San Fierro."

"Johnon was in San Fierro?" Michael was surprised.

"He was," nodded Franklin. "With Kendl and her boyfriend, Cesar Vialpando, who was also a boss of one of the LS gangs. So they took over the station and a garage, then a car shop and they ran into business. Then CJ made friends with Chinese Triads."

"Man, I started to like him," said sadly Trevor.

"They built their position in SF and met many influential people. One of them preached CJ to start doing business in Tierra Robada and Bone County. So he did. He even bought an old airport. In the most fucked moment he fell in love with one girl in Tierra Robada."

"Now you’re telling some romantic story," snorted Trevor.

"What can I do, man? It’s a part of the story. Anyway, CJ went from there to Las Venturas. There he became a shareholder in a Four Dragons Casino."

"If you want to say that Johnson ruled Venturas…," started Michael.

"Man, you’re so stupid. Of course he did. He ruled all three mafias in LV. Then he became friends with Madd Dogg who made him a manager. His contact in SF, who preached to him to buy an airport, asked him to steal a military plane and destroy some spy ships."

"And he survived this?," asked unbelievably Michael. "It would be impossible for three of us and he did this  _ alone _ ?"

Franklin looked at him with a triumph.

"I told ya, man, he’s a  _ legend _ . The same man pulled out Sweet from the jail. So CJ went back to LS, to clean the hood. Then both of them got revenge for killing their mother."

Michael moved impatiently, when Frank drank a beer.

"And then?," Trevor urged him.

"CJ took his girl, Barbara, from El Quebrados. He was the best man at Cesar's and Kendl’s wedding. Then he got married too. And there was peace, until 1997. Then on the streets came survivors of Ballas and Vagos, who reunited for this one moment. Sweet and Barbara died. Kendl and Vialpando disappeared. CJ supposedly died too, but nobody ever found his body. Ballas and Vagos destroyed almost half of a city. Mike, man, you should remember, how it was there about ten years ago." Michael nodded. "But Families survived, the same Aztecs. But when Ortega became their boss, they started to deal drugs – something Vialpando was opposed to. And CJ, even if he’s dead, is still the legend of LS."

"You admire him," said Michael. Franklin hesitated and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. "He proved that black or white, if you’re enough fucker, then you can do everything. And he ran away from the ghetto. And he was independent to the end, homie. Yeah, Sweet wanted him in the hood, but he did this for brother, not for fucking wars. I saw him once, when I was eight, and he was exactly like that. He was doing what he wanted to."

Michael pondered. Where would he be if he didn’t meet this kid? Would he remind about his old life Or maybe he could sit in a Rockford Hills and think about his fucked life?

No. All because of Franklin. Of course, couple other things too. But when he saw himself in Frank, when he saw the son he always wanted… well. There’s no way back. Even meeting fucking Trevor, even the Feds, even Madrazzo – he was exactly here. And he was alive. And yes, maybe Amanda left him and kids were living their life, but… he did what he wanted to do. And maybe the loneliness would be hard, but in that moment he felt… good.

They drank a couple of beers until their tongues got confused. The world started to whirl pleasantly, when they were talking. Their conversations were more often interspersed by an outbursts of extreme emotions, from euphoria to the breakdown.

"Let’s go to the bitches," Michael said suddenly. Trevor hiccupped and he tried to look at him with contempt (Michael wasn’t sure).

"I’m not going anywhere," he snapped. "I have one bitch in the house." Hiccup. "Yes, Mikey, I’m talking about you."

Michael leaned over, almost crushed a beer and he hit Trevor on the knee.

"Fuck off," he ruckled. "And you, Frank?"

Clinton shook his head.

"No, man," he replied. "I have a girlfriend right now."

Michael and Trevor widened their eyes.

"And you were in the strip club!" Philips aimed the finger to Franklin.

"I can fuckin’ watch." Clinton waved his hands protectively. "It’s not a betrayal. She knows ‘bout it and she doesn’t care, man. And likewise."

"You’re a weird couple," said Mike. Franklin smiled a little with affection.

"She's got through many things, man. She was almost in porn business, but her dad stopped that. She was so pissed, but now she knows her pop did the best thing, homie."

Michael frowned. He realized with whom this situation was similar.

"Sounds like Tracey," he said loudly.

"Of course," nodded Trevor. "But Tracey owes that to her genius uncle." Hiccup. "Because her father didn’t give a fuck."

"I will fucking punch you in the face," murmured Michael and he started to stand, but Franklin pushed him back down on the couch.

"Man, come on. And you have to admit it’s partly true."

Michael hesitated.

"Okay, fine," he agreed (fucking alcohol).

And they drank, and drank, and drank. Michael stopped counting wen the number of drunken beers was equal to  _ many _ . Then he happily greeted the fact that he was drunk as fuck.

"Mikey!" groaned Franklin sometime later. "I’m so… so… sorry cause of your divorce!"

"And I’m not," added Trevor, hanging lazily on an armchair backrest. "She’s always been a bitch."

Michael had awakened at that.

"Wanna fight," he growled, trying to look threatening.

"Hey!" Franklin clapped him on the knee. "Calm down, man." He looked at him with a sharp gaze. "She was. A bit."

Mike sighed.

"Yeah, okay. A bit," he agreed and Franklin smiled at him. "You’re so fucking dip… diplomat."

Then, in a moment, Trevor told them that they had no more beer. Franklin was already asleep with a head on Michael’s thigh. So Mike was the only one who could groan.

"I’ll bring more," said Philips, but he stood and then lost his balance. He fell on the floor.

"T?" ruckled Michael. "That’s enough. We’ll sleep with Frank at your place, okay?"

Then Trevor's flushed, disheveled face appeared from behind the table. 

"And me?" he asked pathetically.

"So come on." Michael moved to make Trevor some space. Frank groaned in the sleep. "We’ll share."

He heard when Trevor moved off the floor and then something heavy and warm sat next to him and Frank. Thank God that the couch was huge.

He remembered that Julie stood above them and she put a bowl next to the couch. His last memory was hands on his rear and quiet, pleasant murmuring. And then he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect all these nice comments. I'm still blushing and I love you all!
> 
> Beta: whenhumansthinkofhospitality. Thank you! ♥

Well. It wasn’t the best morning in his life.

"Man, I won’t ever fucking drink with you again," groaned Frank.

"Slow down, cowboy," murmured Mike from the seat next to him. In their condition, the probability of crashing somewhere was very high. "You still have more beer than blood in your veins."

He winced when the kid pressed the brake too hard and both of them were jerked forward.

Actually, the morning was horrible. Julie ran into the room and she started talking to Trevor. Philips fell from the bed and he almost landed in a bowl full of vomit. They probably filled it through the night. Michael didn’t remember that. He opened his eyes and he realized that Frank had hugged him like a fucking teddy bear. He pushed him away and he sat up.

It was the biggest mistake.

The pain exploded in his head and he came back to previous position as fast as he sat earlier. But then Trevor started screaming at Julie, who shouted at him back. The pulsing in his head increased. Frank woke up and he blinked fiercely, probably trying to understand why his arms were entwined around Michael’s leg and why Trevor was wearing his hoodie that was too big on him.

Mike had no idea how they got up, but they did. He and Franklin said goodbye to Trevor and they got into the car, goodbye by Julie’s gaze, full of pity. Oh, awful.

"Sorry," murmured Franklin and he turned and then the sun blinded Michael.

"Fuck, man, turn it off, turn it off!," he moaned and he covered his eyes. Franklin (with sunglasses on his nose) opened the clipboard and without a word he gave him a second pair of glasses. Mike slipped them on with massive relief. "Thanks."

"No problem."

For a moment they rode in complete silence. Then Michael started to remember everything that had happened last evening. He looked at Franklin.

"What happened with Trevor?" he asked finally.

Frank turned down the radio.

"What do you mean, man?" The kid answered by question and Michael frowned.

"Don’t be a smartass. You know exactly what I’m talking about."

Franklin sighed. His fingers tapped the steering wheel.

"About five years ago Patricia came to him," he said. "To the trailer, because he lived there then. Everything was like you remembered and Patricia thought that sucked. I don’t know – I heard this story from Julie – but that chick didn’t want him to go to waste or something. I don’t know what she told him, but he bought a house and he lived there with Julie, man. And Julie straightened him, you know, laundry, cleaning, baths, blah, blah, blah."

Michael opened his eyes, trying to arrange everything in his head himself. Shit, he started to do this more often than usual. He got too much shocking information last time.

"And that’s it?" he murmured. "It’s not like Trevor."

Franklin nodded

"I thought the same, man."

"And Julie? Where did he get her?"

The kid shrugged.

"I dunno, man, I didn’t ask them. But they match each other, right?"

They did. Yes, they did. As Michael saw, they had similar personalities. Maybe Julie was less… psychotic. Although he hasn't seen her in action yet. She surely could be the massive bitch. The scars were the irrefutable proof.

"Right," he admitted.

"But Trevor didn’t change at all," continued Franklin. "You heard like Julie was telling ‘bout a body in the kitchen? He’s still the same cat. But he don’t stink, lives in a real house and has a housekeeper. That’s it."

Trevor never was like that. He always resisted change and he always made horrible things. And everybody was afraid of him. Fucking hipster. And then some old bitch came to him and told him something that inclined Philips to be different.

"Why did he agree?" he asked then. "What did she tell him to make him change?"

"Oh." Franklin sounded confused. "I didn’t start from that, did I? Patricia wanted to see Trevor. Even Madrazo didn’t care. But I told you, I don’t know what exactly she told him."

"But why?" Michael still tried to understand. "Why did he care about what she said?"

Clinton looked at him and he slid off his glasses to stare at him.

"Cause she was dying because of cancer, man. Shit fucked her lungs."

Michael realized that his mouth was opened so he closed it.

"And she…"

Frank nodded.

"’Bout five months ago."

Oh. _Oh._ Suddenly everything had made sense. Trevor agreed, because he always had his _weakness_ for Patricia. And if he did all of this, even after her death, that meant he…

"… was in love with her," he murmured loudly.

"Maybe he was," agreed Franklin, slipping his glasses back on, but Michael hesitated.

"Wait, stop. We’re talking about Trevor. Using words like _love_ . God, no. I would consider it fucking friendship. He killed most of his _friends_. He ate a couple of them. Still warm. No, love is too big of a word."

Frank shrugged.

"Okay, man. You’ve known him longer than me."

Trey drove a longer moment in the silence. Michael watched through the windows. The buildings of Los Santos slowly appeared around them. They rode from the highway to the city. People were walking on the streets. He saw one couple, going and holding hands. He reminded himself about something else.

"What is she like?"

"Hm?" muttered Frank and he overtook the car in front of them.

"Your girlfriend," specified Michael. "What is she like?"

He looked at Clinton to see his reaction. Frank’s mouth budged.

"What do you want to know, man?" he asked carefully.

Michael thought for a moment.

"Is she black, or?" he asked the first thing that came to his mind. "You know I’m not racist, just curious."

"It’s okay, man. She’s white."

"Oh." He was surprised. He knew that Frank had a black girlfriend earlier. And probably most of them were black. But from the other side… he was watching white strippers in Trevor’s club. So it shouldn’t be surprising. "You told us about porn. So what is she doing now? Does she work somewhere?"

"Not exactly, man." A moment of silence. "She’s in college."

Michael raised his eyebrows.

"Man, the girl smarter than you? You a masochist or what?"

Frank took off his glasses again to look at him weirdly.

"Fuck you," he snorted with slight amusement. "We’re fucking perfect together."

"Okay, okay." Michael raised his hands in a protective gesture. "So if she’s the one, she’ll be the only educated person in the family. Of course there is Tracey too, man, I hope she’ll finish school."

Clinton snorted with a visible embarrassment.

"Damn right, man."

They stopped in front of an apartment building, but the memory of Tracey led Michael to his second child.

"And Jimmy," he started. "I won’t ever forget how you helped get his shit together, Frank. It means a lot to me."

Frank smiled.

"Fine, man. I won’t forget that you took me into this fuckhole. I wouldn’t change anything, homie."

Michael laughed shortly.

"So we’re cool?"

Franklin bumped his fist.

"We’re cool."

xxx

"I have my eye on a new production," said Solomon, visibly pleased.

"Mm."

Michael really tried, but he couldn’t be enthusiastic. He breathed in the cigarette smoke and he breathed out a couple of smoky rings instead.

Suddenly, he realized that silence from the other side was _too long_. Uh, that was right. Solomon watched him with a visible concern.

Michael started to hate that.

"I’m worried about you, my friend," Richards started. "Something’s wrong with you."

"It’s nothing," he replied automatically. Then something dawned on him and he realized that he wanted to get this over with. "Or you know what? You’re right. I’m getting divorced."

"Michael, my dear…" Oh, fucking awesome. That fucking pity again. "I’m so sorry."

"Yeah, me too," he murmured. "So what about that new production?"

xxx

A week later Michael was a near-fifty divorcee. And suddenly he felt frightened because of that.

He left Amanda with neutral relations. After signing the divorcing papers and escaping the building, she stopped and looked at him. Time hadn’t changed her and she was still beautiful. Plastic, but beautiful.

He reached out a hand to her.

"So… bye," he said. What should he say, anyway? Was there anything he could say?

Instead of holding his hand, she came closer and she hugged him. For a moment, he lost himself in her embrace, wanting to remember it. He didn’t want to forget her arms around his neck, hair tickling him on his cheek or her warm breath on his throat. He wanted to suffocate in the smell of this woman’s perfume, absorb the warmth of her body, relinquish himself to oblivion.

But then Amanda stepped back and all these feelings were gone. She touched his cheek. Her face was full of concern.

"Look out for yourself, Michael," she said. "Don’t hurt yourself, okay? And don’t do anything stupid."

"You too," he replied quickly.

She smiled unsteadily and then she went to one of the cars in the parking lot. And Michael was watching the man who got out of the car, hugged her, and kissed her. They left together and Michael stayed there alone. He stood a longer moment without a movement.

He didn’t feel anything. But he was sure that, sooner or later, the crisis would get him. And then he would start to scatter. Because he was too old for this.

xxx

He was right. The crisis came.

Michael fell into a routine. He was sleeping until ten, and once he got up, he spent fifteen minutes smoking cigarettes. Then he was eating breakfast made with things bought by his maid and he was drinking two glasses of whisky. About twelve he was clothed and was driving to the studio. He was talking with Solomon (with whisky and cigars) about the projects. He was coming home about six to drink whisky again and to watch the ocean. Then he sometimes called for a whore, more often being too tired to do anything else (although he shouldn’t be tired at all).

It was a good plan. It was perfect for about two and a half weeks. Then the routine was interrupted when during the morning’s shaving someone called him. He hesitated and he went to the room to answer. He stumbled about clothes on the floor (which weren’t taken by the maid yet). Swearing under his nose, he took a phone and he froze, seeing who was calling.

He answered.

"Hiya, rotten martyr!" Oh, perfect. "Wonderful, you’re still alive!"

"What do you want, Trevor?" asked roughly Michael.

"Oh, what for the nerves, cupcake?" Philips was amused. "I thought you would like to come, if you have nothing to do. I have to take revenge on some Armenians who are still stealing my weapon cargo from San Fierro. Don’t you think they should be neutralized, Mikey?"

Michael sighed. Of course. He could expect that sooner or later Trevor would ask him for something like that.

"You know, T," he answered with tiredness. "I finished with this."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, lazy porkchop," snorted Trevor. "If you change your mind, Julie, Frank and I will go at about five."

He heard a quiet click.

"Trevor?" asked Michael hesitantly. "Trevor!" He looked on the phone. Damn, he disconnected. "Fuck."

He could pass that. Last time he went back into the game, it was harder to leave than the first time. And… he was over forty. Who the fuck his age was running with a gun?

No, no, no. He did what he wanted to do. He had a lot of money, hoes, fucking awesome apartment and hectoliters of his favorite whisky. He had _everything_. Why would he throw away all of this and go shooting people?

His hand budged when in the first moment he wanted to throw the phone away. He couldn’t do this anyway. He… he was…

Fucking Trevor.

He didn’t put away the phone. He started to search his contact list and then he chose one of them.

"Solomon?" he said quickly when he heard a familiar voice. "Look, man, do you mind if I don’t come today?"

xxx

"Hey, Mike." Frank clapped his hand. "So you’re into this shit too?"

"Hey, I’m not alone in this," he answered smoothly and then he saw a woman coming from the house with a shotgun. "Hi, Julie."

"Oh, so you’re here?" She was surprised. "Trevor said that you wouldn’t come here with your lazy ass, but Frankie protected you." She reloaded the weapon significantly. "If you need any weapons, that dick is behind the house, he’ll give you some."

Michael spread his hands and he went where Julie told him. Trevor was near the black jeep and he was talking with someone by the phone.

"And I told you you’ll move your fucking ass and you’ll do it!," hissed Philips. "What? What the fuck did you say? I don’t accept any refusal, Ron. You know that if you don’t agree, I’ll gut you and I’ll give your guts to these fucking coyotes, because they aren’t even worth eating myself! And your head will scare fucking tourists on Mount Josiah, am I fucking clear, you little shit?" A moment of silence. "Yes. Yes! That’s my Ronnie! Put your fucking pants on and let’s do this! But if you fail… Well, killing you will be the nicest thing I’ll do to you."

Trevor disconnected and started to murmur something about fucking intellectuals and their awesome ability to shit their pants.

"Julie told me you have some guns." Trevor turned around instantly. "I took my own but I don’t know if you wanna do this smoothly or obviously."

Trevor looked at him with irony.

"Smoothly? These fuckers crash my planes, take my cargo and they don’t do that _smoothly_! I will fucking crash their shitheads so loud it will be heard in the whole damn state of San Andreas!"

"Okay, okay." Michael raised his hands in a protective gesture. "I wanted to ask. Is there something wrong with Ron?"

"Everything is okay," snarled Trevor. "I told you, that guy is _much better_ than fucking Lester Crest. He needs just proper… encouragement."

Michael snorted.

"Encouragement? Something like: do it or I’ll kill you and give your head to the rats? Oh, fucking great."

Philips wanted to say something back, but his phone rang again. He answered and, from what Michael heard, it was Wade. Mike waved his hand and he leaned on one of the crates which Trevor had taken from the basement. Well, Philips’ weapon legacy was… impressive. But he fucking expected that.

He didn’t find anything that satisfied him a hundred percent. He went back to his trunk and he took his carbine. The cold metal under his fingers calmed him down.

Then he went to change his clothes. He put on light armor with a slight sentiment. He realized he missed that. Exactly that. Adrenaline, even before the battle, started to circulate in his veins. He went outside, totally ready.

"Here." Julie gave him an earphone. She gave the same to Frank and Trevor. "T, did you get those Molotovs from the corridor?"

Trevor opened the jeep’s trunk.

"As you can see. Now get in the car."

Julie sat in the front seat immediately. Franklin shrugged and he sat on the backseat and Michael went next to him. Trevor sat on the wheel with a sudden content.

"Together again!" he shouted, looking in the mirror to Michael and Frank. "Back in the game!"

"Where are we fucking going, man?" asked Franklin.

"Flint County," answered Julie. "And actually – Beacon Hill. The Armenians have their good spot to shoot our planes."

" _My_ planes," corrected Trevor and Julie rolled her eyes.

"I’ll fucking remind you this- next time I’ll do the paper work while you’ll be busy with your next fucking hobo who’s sucking you off."

"J, honey, you can suck me off if you want," twittered Trevor and he moved on. Franklin made a disgusted sound. Michael looked at his own hands, totally bored. He expected a cascade of insults. He was even disappointed.

"If you earn it," said graciously Julie and Michael felt like his mouth opened. "But only if planes are _ours._ But if they’re _yours_ , then you can dream. _Honey_."

The last word she almost spitted. Michael and Frank looked at each other, almost screaming: _where the fuck did he find that chick_?

Then was the long silence, interrupted only by the sound of an engine and the ground under the wheels. Trevor drove toward the sunset and that reminded Michael about North Yankton and their robberies at midnight. And then, instead of Frank and Julie, there was Brad, who Michael never really liked. Trevor was closer with him. So Michael was better friends with Lester. But still Trevor was his _best_ friend.

And he forgave him. After the betrayal, after all years of silence, Trevor just forgave him. Mike didn’t know if he could do that. But Trevor… yeah, sure, not without complications, but… he let it be the past.

When they were on the border of Blaine County and Flint County, they drove to the crossroads to Flint. Then they rode the main road until an old, rusty sign. There was an inscription: BEACON HILL. Trevor turned to the indicated direction and he drove for a moment in total darkness through the forest. Then he stopped.

"There." Michael narrowed his eyes. In a moment his eyes could get used to darkness and then he saw slender lights. "There’s one building with two entrances. Mikey, Frank, you’ll go from the backside and you’ll kill as many fuckers as you can. Me and Julie will go to the front and we’ll start a party. It will be simple, uncomplicated and effective."

"If they don’t kill us," murmured Michael and Trevor frowned.

"The divorce made you more pessimistic than usual."

"Bite me."

Trevor backed the car up and he hid it between the trees. Also the car was in a perfect place to escape. Then they got out of the car and with the utmost care, they silently took the weapons. Michael checked the bullets in the magazine and he corrected the knife by his belt. Then he saw Julie smiling, taking the Molotovs from the trunk and giving them to Trevor. Philips winked at her.

And Michael felt weird. Because sometime in the past it was completely different. It was him who smiled like that to Trevor before the score. And Trevor winked like that to him. Now Philips and Julie were these matching people, these _appropriate_ people and Mike was just an old, divorced wreck. The memory of perfection. The shadow of himself from earlier.

"Okay, homies," told Franklin. "Let’s do this."

Michael shook off and he went to the farm. Franklin was by his side and Trevor and Julie went to the other side. Mike and Frank jumped through the fencing. They heard somewhere nearby the sound of dog’s barking. And, in fact, when Michael lightened the place, they saw an angry pitbull. Frank started to murmur something. It seemed to really work for the dog, who calmed down and even wagged his tail. Then he lost interest in them.

They went further, to the backdoor. They stood to the both sides of the entrance.

"Okay, T, we’re next to the door," said quietly Michael to the microphone. "You can start."

"As you wish, amigo!" shouted briskly Philips. "J, you're a woman, you go first."

"Gentleman," answered Julie with amusement. Then Michael heard the sound of an explosion. The woman would throw the first Molotov. Then someone started to scream and then – shoot. He and Frank waited patiently until the door opened and people started to run away through it.

Then they started to shoot.

The first man killed shocked the rest of the crowd. Couple of shots and surprise changed into understanding. Some of them started to panic and run. Their bullets were fast in the air. The rest of the crowd got back into the building, screaming something in Armenian and surely organizing a counterattack.

"Are you waiting for me to let you pass like a lady?" shouted Michael, reloading his weapon. Franklin smiled like a real hunter and he tightened hands on a carbine. His face was covered in someone else’s blood.

"We can bet, man! Who will kill more bitches!"

Michael laughed approvingly.

"I’m in!" they heard Trevor’s voice in his headphones.

"Maybe you’ll fucking move and start shooting!" Julie sounded like Christmas came half a year earlier. Michael looked significantly to Franklin and in the same time they stepped inside, shooting in anything that moved.

They were moving slowly forward, shooting more and more people. All was like Trevor said. Finally they came to a huge door. Michael looked at Frank and opened it.

Firstly he saw Trevor, who wreaked havoc and destruction. People were dying because of a shotgun in his hands. The flames from Molotovs made the situation horrifying. Philips shouted something, some nonsense, but Michael didn’t understand these words. He focused on life, because a couple of men with knives went for him.

Fools.

He shot anyone who was close. Then he heard a whistle near his ear. Next moment something warm and heavy pressed him to the wall.

"Sniper!" hissed Franklin to his ear, because it was him, who took him from the field of fire. "He’s on the balcony, man!"

"You can show your fucking cowardly faces, I took him down!" They heard Julie's voice in headphones. They leaned out carefully and she really waved to them. She had a shotgun too. She moved quicker than Trevor between the enemies and she gave the same number of kills. Her flying hair made her some kind of lithe, fast and beautiful predator. "There should be a couple of points for a sniper!"

"You’re awesome!" shouted Michael, when he and Franklin were back in action again.

"I know." There was a self-satisfaction in her voice.

"M, you won’t fuck anyway, so focus on fucking work!" growled Trevor and Michael laughed. The adrenaline in his veins made him feel alive. This was something he was made for. He wasn't a homebody or lazy type. No, he had to do something – to not become crazy. And he didn’t mean golf or tennis.

No. Michael was the man of action. He had to _do_. Rob. Kill others and not let anyone kill himself and his family. That was the sense of his life. An axis, around which his life spun around.

"There's a couple of them in the hall, I’m going to get them!," Julie started and she disappeared.

"Roger that!" shouted Trevor and he smashed someone’s head with the shotgun stock. The blood splashed on his face and, in that one moment, Michael didn’t think that was abnormal.

The man he shot fell dead on the floor. Michael looked around. The fire was everywhere. It burned furniture, walls, a stack of corpses and himself inside. He killed a couple other men. Trevor lurked near the main door and he shot or pushed running people into the fire. Franklin intercepted a forklift and he ran over Armenians. Michael showed him a thumbs up and he climbed the ladder to the balcony.

He wasn’t wrong. He found there were a couple men. Everyone was frightened, but determined. They ran to him, wanting to overpower him, gut him, kill him. Really, total fools.

He shot the last one and then he looked out the balcony, because he wanted to kill someone from above. He didn’t position himself on time. Two guys pushed into the room. Both of them were armed. Michael took one of them on a target, but at the same time the second one shot in an unspecified direction.

He looked above his target, feeling a bad premonition…

… And as if in slow-motion, he saw the glass in the forklift shatter. The vehicle suddenly stopped and he heard a groan in his headphones. Then he could hear Trevor’s scream, full of anger.

"Franklin!" screamed Michael. He felt panic and boundless, unrestrained rage. He aimed his carbine and he shot. And once again. Both of the attackers fell on the ground and then Michael didn’t think about anything else but the kid. He ran through the balcony and he slipped off the ladder. He didn’t lose his self-preservation and he looked around the hall. There was nobody except him and Trevor, so he ran to the forklift. At the same time Trevor started to crush the attacker’s face with his heavy shoes.

"What happened?" asked Julie with a flutter. "For fuck’s sake, answer me!"

"Frank…" Michael’s voice broke. He reached the door and he almost wrestled it from its hinges. Franklin sat on the seat and on his hoodie was a huge stain of blood. "Franklin! Kid, don’t you fucking dare!"

His knees buckled when Clinton’s eyelids fluttered and raised, showing his eyes. Then the concern came back when he saw how weak the kid was. He caught him and he pull him out the forklift. Fucker was heavy, but he could deal with it. Quickly, to the hospital, they had to go to the…

"How’s he doing?" growled Trevor behind him, his tone was full of the highest worry.

"He’s alive," answered Michael. "But we have to go to the hospital. Where’s Julie?"

"I’m here!" hissed the woman, suddenly appearing next to them. "Paleto Bay is the closest!"

"Angel Pine!" protested Trevor, but Michael shook his head.

"J is right." He started to lug Franklin to the escape. "Paleto is closer and the hospital is better. Move, he’s weaker and weaker!"

"Give me him," ordered Trevor. "There’s a Felon parked out front. We’ll drive it. Jul, you go back to the jeep. When we’ll go, you’ll shoot one rocket or two. The launcher is in the trunk. Then you’ll go to Sandy Shores and take care of the rest."

"A’ight, boss!" she shouted and she ran away from them.

"Mike." Trevor held Frank tighter. The kid groaned and Philips sped up. "If you see one of these fuckers, don’t fucking hesitate."

Michael gritted his teeth.

"You don’t fucking say. Faster!"

Then Trevor put Franklin in the backseat with the highest care. He got the wheel and Michael got in next to the kid and he started to try to stop the bleeding. Trevor moved on fast, causing Mike to hit his head against the headrest. He didn’t care at all.

A moment later they were outside the farm. Then they heard the deafening bang. Then another one. The flames fired above the trees when they got on the main road.

"Good girl!" shouted Trevor and he speeded up. Michael leaned over Franklin.

"Frank? Kid? Look at me!" Clinton tried to focus on him. "You’ll be okay, you hear me? We’re almost to a hospital. Just don’t fall asleep, okay? Because I’ll have to punch you in the face."

"Okay, man," Franklin tried to say lightly, but his voice was weak as Michael gritted his teeth again. He took off his hoodie and he wrapped it tightly around the wound. He put a couple other material layers to it, wanting to stop as much blood as he could. The kid’s eyes faded more and more anyway.

"Who gave you a driving license?!" screamed Trevor, when some fool drove in front of them. "If I wasn’t rushing, you’d be fucking dead!"

Three minutes later they rode next to Fort Zancudo. Franklin’s fingers tightened weakly on Michael’s wrist.

"Mike, man… I barely… feel my legs."

"It’s okay," answered Michael and he was panicking inside, because _it wasn’t fucking okay_ . Kid almost leaked through his hands. "We’re close. Fuck, Trevor, _faster_!" He screamed the last word.

"So you drive that fuckin’ piece of shit!" shouted Trevor, but he could press the gas harder, because the engine roared like a wounded animal and the car got faster. A couple of moments later, they rode down from the highway to the hospital.

Trevor jumped from the car and he ran for the paramedics. In the same time Michael got out of the car and he pulled outside Franklin, murmuring some restless nonsense. If the kid was breathing it was okay. At least he repeated it himself.

He almost ran to the entrance with Franklin in his arms. The door suddenly opened and Trevor showed up, holding one of the paramedics. Another three of them ran behind them and their faces were full of fright. At least once the psychopathic nature of Trevor’s was useful. Michael laid Frank on the brought stretcher and all of them ran to the building.

"Franklin, kid, you have to stay strong," panted Michael, when Clinton tried to keep open eyes with all his might.

"They’ll help you," told Trevor from the other side. "Because if they don’t…"

He fell silent, because they ran through another door. There the security guard jumped to them and stopped Michael and Trevor before they went into the operating block. Of course, Philips didn’t want to hear that. Mike stopped him at the last moment.

"Stop!" he growled to Trevor’s ear. "We can’t do anything more right now. Everything is in doc’s hands."

"So I fucking go and tell him, _how much_ he’s responsible for life his wife and kids," hissed Trevor, but Michael tighten his fingers on Trevor’s arm and he didn’t let him go.

"And how the fuck does he help Frank _properly_ , when he shits his pants?"

Trevor gritted his teeth, but he didn’t answer. The guard, seeing that the highest danger was defeated, smiled slightly.

"Doctor Martinez is an excellent medic," he told them. "I’m sure he’ll do everything to help your friend. And now please, wait here, the nurse will come to you and check your harms."

And he disappeared behind the operating block’s door. Michael and Trevor stayed alone in a corridor. Philips took a few steps back and he finally punched the wall in anger. Michael fell down into the chair and he sighed. Franklin. Franklin Clinton. The kid whom Michael owed many things, was fighting for life.

He looked at his own hands. They were covered in blood, the same as his shirt and trousers. Trevor didn’t look any better. Of course, much of the blood belonged to Armenians. But undeniably, the freshest blood had been pumping in Franklin’s veins.

He looked at his hands again. They were shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to mix the San Andreas from GTA SA and GTA V, so there will be counties from both games in future chapters too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: whenhumansthinkofhospitality. Thank you! ♥

The waiting was the worst.

Michael looked at Trevor, who bounced his legs in impatience. He sat without moving, but everything was boiling inside him. Then he looked at his hands again. They were clean, but he still felt blood on them. Barely aware, he scratched at a bandage on his forearm, in a place where one of the Armenians stabbed him. He didn’t notice that earlier, too preoccupied with the latest events.

Medics took Franklin to the operating room and they didn’t come inside. But the nurse showed up quickly. She wanted to take them to the room nearby and dress them there. That was the moment Michael realized that he was slightly injured. Trevor probably didn’t notice that – surely it was his capacity to go berserk. Anyway – both of them protested firmly. They didn’t want to go away too far from the operating block, because they didn’t want to miss any information about Frank. The nurse – quite an old woman – called them good boys and good friends. And she probably brought Trevor through that. Michael thought that was because she reminded him of Patricia.

The nurse, Linda, took them to the nearest bathroom, where they cleaned up a bit. Then, in the corridor, she patched their wounds; there was Michael’s forearm and a cheek, where the sniper’s bullets grazed him (but he totally didn’t remember any pain). Trevor had a cut on one eyebrow, a black eye and a knife mark on his thigh. Linda took care about every injury and gave them some clean clothes before she left them alone and they were waiting for some info about Franklin.

God, they were so stupid. How could Michael miss the obvious danger? Why didn’t he kill these two fuckers earlier? The bitterness burned his throat like a fire. He felt like he failed this kid.

"It’s my fault," he said suddenly. Trevor’s legs stopped. "If I had killed them earlier, it wouldn’t have happened."

"I won’t listen to this shit," growled Trevor. Michael gritted his teeth.

"It’s fucking true!" He turned to look at Philips, who had anger on face. "If I only knew…"

"But you didn’t," replied Trevor and then suddenly his anger disappeared. He sighed. "I can say the same thing. I saw them too. I ignored that too. You killed them at least. I’d have to fucking kill them to make myself happy."

Michael waved his hands with frustration. "It doesn’t fucking matter!"

"The armor failed," Trevor said with a lower tone. "We fucked up, but we’re not guilty."

"But Frank…"

"Frank will be okay, a’ight?"

Michael didn’t answer. The helplessness grew inside him with a double power. He could bear many things. He could ignore many things. But this… this was about Franklin. He couldn’t be neutral. Not if it was all about his life.

So, really, waiting was the worst. Time lagged mercilessly. Michael was catching himself looking at the clock quite often. The silence around them wasn’t helpful. He heard only the beating of his own heart and creak of the chair, when Trevor started jiggling his legs again.

Couple minutes later he almost had a heart attack, when the door to the operating block opened suddenly. He and Trevor got to their feet, when they saw a man about their age in a lab coat.

"Martinez," the man introduced himself and he reached a hand to Michael, who shook it with impatience. Then he reached his hand to Trevor, but Philips was less patient.

"What about Franklin?" he growled, grabbing the doctor’s clothes and shaking him violently. "Speak, motherfucker!"

Michael jumped to Trevor immediately and he took him away from the confused doctor.

"Trevor!" he hissed. "If you crush his face, he won’t tell us anything!"

"I’m calling security." Doc got back his ability to speak, clearly. He wanted to pass them, but Michael took his arm.

"You’re not calling anyone. Now talk. Franklin Clinton. His condition."

Doctor looked at Michael distrustfully.

"Actually, who are you to him?"

Trevor rolled his eyes. "I’ll fucking kill…"

"Trevor!" growled Michael again and then he breathed fully. "Fathers. We’re his fathers. Franklin is our son."

The doctor blinked with a surprise. Mike looked quickly at Trevor, who lowered his hand and he stared at the doctor.

"Adopted," told Philips. "Any problem, you piece of shit?"

Martinez tore out his hand from Michael’s grip and he crossed his arms over his chest in a protective gesture.

"You don’t look like a couple," he said and that sentence was about in the first five things Michael didn’t expect to hear.

"Yeah, we fucking don’t show our feelings in public," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, you’re talking ‘bout yourself, hon," Trevor added. "Remember that sunset in a trolley to a Mount Chilliad?"

"Trevor!"

No. That vision was so impossible. And definitely was not proper to imagine it in that situation. Martinez visibly thought the same. His harsh face relented suddenly and he sighed loudly.

"Mr. Clinton lost a lot of blood, but he survived." Michael had a feeling like a knot clutching his guts suddenly loosened up. "The bullet destroyed one of the liver’s lobes. We had to remove it. There was a lot of blood, because the liver is the reservoir for blood. But that organ has a fantastic ability to regenerate, so he’ll be fine. He’ll have to be on a special diet for some time."

"And that’s it?" asked Michael in disbelief. The doctor nodded. "And he’ll really be okay?"

The doctor spread his hands.

"Except that he’ll have to stay in the ward, I guess he will."

Michael breathed with a relief and he clapped on a chair again, feeling a little dizzy. God, it’s over. It’s fine. Frank was alive.  _ Alive _ .

"Pussy," snorted Trevor, but he visibly felt relief too. "So where is his room?"

Doctor seemed like he wanted to argue with him, but one hard Trevor’s stare made him resign. He waved his hand towards the corridor.

"We can go there to the restroom. Come on."

When they came into Franklin’s room (after dressing up in aprons), Michael looked at the kid’s bed. Something squeezed his heart. He looked very fragile and innocent. Totally not like a professional robber and killer.

He raised his head, when Trevor started to laugh.

"What?"

"Look at his legs!" snorted Philips with amusement (surely it was because he was losing his nerves). "He’s so tall, he can’t fit in the bed!"

Mike looked once again and… he started to laugh too. Right, that was epic.

"Mr. Clinton is a bit taller than the average citizen," said Martinez resentfully. "We don't have longer beds, these are the standard."

"It’s okay, doc." Michael patted him to the back. "We appreciate that. Thanks."

The doctor nodded stiffly and then he went out. As he left, the nurse came into the room and she checked Frank’s vitals. Michael sat on a chair near the bed. Next to him sat Trevor. The kid's body was connected to many tubes and his face was covered by the oxygen mask. Despite that he looked like he was asleep.

"So you’re Mr. Clinton’s family." In the door was another nurse, young blonde. "I have to give his things back to you. His clothes are rather destroyed, but his wallet, keys and a phone are okay."

Trevor took Frank’s things in silence and Michael nodded his head to the nurse.

"Thanks," he said and the girl smiled warmly.

"Oh, and I guess someone wants to call Mr. Clinton, please, you’d better check it," she answered and he went out.

Michael took the phone from the top of the things Trevor held. Suddenly the phone started to vibrate. He and Trevor looked at each other and Michael answered.

"Hello?" he asked hesitantly, quietly. The reaction was instant and Michael almost fell from the chair when he was attacked by a full of anger scream. Then he realized that it was Julie.

"No explanations!" shouted the woman. "Both phones are off! Are you out of your fucking mind or am I that fucking smart beside you?! You fucking should inform me, how Frank is doing and if he’s still alive, you sick motherfuckers!"

Michael winced and he tried to give the phone to Trevor, but he avoided it successfully.

"Jul, we…"

"Oh, shut up, Mikey! And don’t even give Trevor to phone, because I can fucking destroy his statue of Impotent Rage at  _ any moment _ !" Trevor, hearing that, made an indignant face. Then was the bothering moment of silence. "So what’s with Frank?"

"He’s alive." One word and that much relief. "They cut out a piece of his liver, he lost some blood, but he’ll be fine. We’re sitting with him right now. Come if you want, I guess he’ll be glad."

Trevor wheezed.

"She has to keep an eye on TPI, not travel through the state!" he growled and Julie had to hear that, because she started an angry rant again. Michael rolled his eyes. Jesus, these two were worth each other. He couldn’t listen to that.

Or maybe that made them so similar?

"Jul," he interrupted her argument about confiscating Trevor’s meth. "Can you give a call to people from Frank’s work that he won’t show today? And better tell them everything, maybe they’ll want to see him too."

"Oh, Lamar and Jimmy? Yeah, man, sure."

“You know Jimmy?" Michael was surprised.

"Of course!" In her voice, for the first time she called, was an amusement. "It’s a good kid, man. He tries too hard to be cool, but besides that he’s okay."

Michael raised his eyebrows. That sounded like an authentic description of his son.

A moment later Julie said goodbye to them and she disconnected. Michael tossed the phone to Trevor and he leaned back in the chair. He sighed. Too many emotions for one day. And… What time exactly was it?

Oh, fantastic. Half past four. And his perfect schedule was fucked. Awesome.

So he sat with Trevor in silence. Philips seemed to be sulky after conversation with Julie. Brat. Total, psychopathic brat. Why the fuck did Michael have to stay with people like him day by day?

Well. Actually, there was a long list of his sins.

He didn’t know how much time passed. He checked his mailbox fifteen times. Nurses came sometimes and they checked Clinton’s condition. And the kid was still unconscious. Then, in some moment, Trevor leaned to the front with a sudden vigilance, which made Michael alert, too.

"He moved his hand," said Philips. Michael looked at Franklin, who was still sleeping without a move.

"No way." Trevor shook his head.

"No, seriously. He moved his hand."

"Too much meth," snorted Michael and his friend looked at him with anger.

"You piece of shit. You’re old, fat  _ and _ blind.”

Both of them turned as per command, when they heard a groan from Franklin’s side.

"Frank?" called him Michael. "F, can you hear me?"

"Fuck," wheezed Franklin. "Is this hell?"

Michael blinked. Did he maunder? Was something wrong with him besides getting shot? Fuck.

"What?"

Franklin moved carefully and then he winced.

"No, it’s fucking real."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Trevor asked with a surprise. "What hell?"

"I thought they killed me." Franklin rolled his eyes and he visibly collected his thoughts. "And I thought I would have to listen your fucking fighting for eternity, motherfuckers, man, that’s horrible."

Michael laughed. That was the Frank he knew. And, apparently, he had a perfect reason to not let someone throw him away to the other world.

xxx

Cops had to be interested in the case, of course. And that’s why one of them showed up in Frank's room in the morning. The three of them told him a story about hunting and an accidental gunshot. Even Mike, although he was proud of his skills of lying, that time he had to admit that they fucked that up. That, plus Trevor and his complete lack of culture.

"Enough," said suddenly the cop, interrupting Michael, who was already talking. "You two don’t seem like a couple."

"You don’t seem smart," answered Trevor, but the police officer waved his hand.

"Whatever. But I see you’re not a couple and he," he pointed on Frank "is not your son. At least not formally. Someone shot him, because they  _ wanted to _ . Not either of you."

"But we told you, officer, that…"

"Whatever," repeated the cop. "You should know that I’m forgiving today. So I’ll believe that was a hunt, if you can consolidate my trust."

Mike looked at Trevor and Franklin.

"How much?" he asked and the officer smiled cunningly.

Fucking, corrupted cops.

xxx

Some time later Franklin fell asleep again, still exhausted after losing that much blood. Michael and Trevor were tired too, but they didn’t want to leave the kid alone because of the insecurity of the situation. Perhaps they could take him and run away to the other side of the state. If anything else, Jimmy and Lamar could come to Paleto Bay. Then they would leave Frank in their hands and then go back home to finally sleep (although when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure that Jimmy and Lamar could be the best security for anyone).

But then they were alone. The bed in Frank's room was the only one, so Michael set his own chair near the wall, to pillow his head and take a nap. Trevor did the same thing. The room was small, so they had to sit near each other. Michael was actually accustomed – in North Yankton that was absolutely normal. So he only shrugged, when Trevor leaned against the wall.

Michael tried not to fall asleep too fast, but his eyes started to close. At some point, something warm and heavy fell on his shoulder. He blinked and he realized that it was Trevor’s head. For a moment he thought about pushing him off, but then he abandoned that idea. Too much hassle. Well, that didn’t matter anyway.

Trevor smelled like an ordinary soap and synthetic, hospital shirt. And maybe a bit blood and war. Or maybe Mike was so sleepy and he was confused. His eyelids fell. Warm. Well, he wasn’t in bed, but it didn’t matter. Maybe sleeping at home didn't contain the nightmares. Oh, he would like to, though. It was so good to finally close his eyes.

To rest.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but he was awake when someone shouted somewhere in the corridor. He blinked a couple times. Trevor picked up his head from Michael’s arm and with a quiet moan he started to rub his neck. Mike looked at Frank, who breathed in faster and then he opened his eyes. All three of them became vigilant. Clinton rose a bit on his elbows and he hissed. Michael stood up, got around the bed and pushed him back on the pillows. He turned to the door, covering the kid with his own body. Philips stood near the entrance, ready to overpower a potential attacker.

The steps were closer and closer. About four or five people came to them. Someone almost screamed, some woman. There were men’s voices too. And another, calmer, woman’s voice. Michael frowned. And then he froze, when the door opened suddenly.

"Franklin!"

Trevor jumped to the intruder and he froze too, when he saw that person was…

"Tracey?" asked stupidly Michael.

"Oh my God, you’re alive!" His daughter totally ignored him. She passed a shocked Trevor, came around the bed and she leaned upon Franklin. She took his face in her hands and she started kissing him everywhere. All the time she was babbling something, what  _ definitely _ sounded like full of fear and relief love confessions. Franklin raised his hand and he hugged her and she did the same carefully.

When she started kissing him very  _ clearly _ , Michael realized that his mouth was opened. Tracey and Franklin? Frank and Trace? Shit.

"What the fuck?" he wheezed. The couple broke away from themselves. Both of them had red mouths. Tracey’s face was flushed, but firm. Michael couldn’t read Franklin. He looked at Trevor in shock, who was the same surprised.

"Frank, man, I see you’re fine, homie, ‘cause you’re shinin’ like a fucking star," told Lamar with and amusement, because it was him, who leaned behind Trevor. Behind them was Jimmy too, but he was winced.

"No, it’s Tracey, who sucked his face, don’t you see, man?" Michael’s son didn’t seem surprised.

"You knew?" asked Michael, still confused. Jimmy shrugged. "You knew that they’re… dating and you didn’t tell me?"

Jimmy seemed dissatisfied.

"They didn’t want me to."

"Man, better admit that Tracey blackmailed you, homie!" Lamar said with a little laugh. Jimmy made an even more sulky face and Trevor suddenly snorted. Tracey seemed very pleased with herself. Franklin’s face was still hard to decipher.

"So when you’re talking about your girlfriend," started Michael, directing his words to Frank, because he started to connect the facts. "You meant Tracey?”

Franklin looked at him without any emotion by a moment and then he nodded.

"You told him about me?" Tracey asked, interested. "Something nice?"

Michael shook his head. "Only general stuff," he answered and then he laughed shortly. "God, I should guess. All of these things he’s saying… And his face…"

"He always has that face, when he’s talking ‘bout her, dad." Jimmy waved his hand with a face expressing unequivocal disgust. "He looks like somebody gave him a golden car."

"Rather like Chop when he got a bowl with a food, man," added Lamar.

"Or Michael," added Trevor. Jimmy, Lamar and Tracey laughed. Michael frowned.

"Fuck you, man," growled Franklin. "Do you have a fucking problem with that?"

And then there was a silence. Frank and Tracey looked expectantly at Michael and then they gave the same look at Trevor.

"No," said Philips after a longer moment. "You’re like my own kids, why wouldn’t I want you to be happy?" Trace smiled brightly to Trevor and Franklin sighed with relief. "But you have to know, Frank, that I raised that girl when she was young. I carried her in these hands, when she was little like a SMG. I care about her. So if you fucking hurt her, believe me, I’ll skin you, I’ll chop your muscles to pieces and I’ll give your fucking bones to Altruists, because they aren’t even worth the…"

"I guess he got it, man," interrupted that monologue Lamar, because Trevor seemed like he started to go berserk or something. Philips tightened his jaw, but he didn’t say anything else. He even smiled, when Tracey stood and hugged him with a complete tenderness on her face.

But Franklin looked to Michael. Suddenly, all of them started to stare at him too. He watched Clinton, thinking frantically.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. They shouldn’t be with each other. Tracey should find someone else. Calmer. Safer. Not a psycho, like Frank, Trevor or himself. And Trace seemed like she would copy her mother this way. Michael wondered, with bitterness, if something like that could be hereditary.

He always did everything to protect his family. It was always of the utmost importance, before the friendship with Trevor, Lester and Brad, before the robberies, before his own career of being a thief. Would Franklin make the same sacrifice? Would he do the same things if he was at Michael’s place? Were they the same?

He suddenly realized that they were not. And that was okay. Franklin was calmer. Franklin always stood between him and Trevor, acting as a conciliator. Franklin probably wanted to learn something from Michael, but he didn’t want to be like him. And, most of all, he drew conclusions from Michael’s mistakes.

There was one more thing. When from all sides everybody pressed at Franklin to kill him or Trevor, he fucked everyone, Devin Weston and the whole FIB. And he didn’t betray them, he didn't do the same thing as Michael. He showed his loyalty and that he could care about people who were close to him.

And, in fact, when he was talking about Tracey, he had that fucking idiotic face. He supposed that meant that she wasn’t indifferent to him.

He looked at his daughter. She didn’t hug Michael yet. She was looking at him questioningly. Her mouth was still red and the cheeks flushed because of emotions. Her face was full of decisiveness and stubbornness. It was the next thing she had after her mother. But that obstinacy… it was from him too.

Tracey was always like that. If she had an idea, she would not rest until she got it done. Crying, screaming, begging, blackmailing, fucking – she always had a method. Little, despotic thing.

But somewhere, somewhere next to this stubbornness, questions and many emotions, Mike saw something standing out above the rest. Her eyes were shining cheerfully, when she only was near Frank. Michael never saw her  _ like that _ . Never, with any boy, with any man--and Tracey had a lot of them. And that meant probably only one thing.

She was in love with Franklin.

And Michael was sure that if he said  _ no _ , he would hear back  _ you ruined my life _ . And that wouldn’t be without the sense. Because even a fool would notice that these two were crazy for each other.

"It’s okay," he just said then. Frank smiled at him and Tracey squeaked and hugged him tightly. Michael didn't remember, when was the last time she embraced him, just like that.  _ He didn’t remember _ and that moment had a big impact. He hugged her back, feeling something warm in his chest, because she was his  _ child,  _ for fuck’s sake, and child’s love to his parent was something really valuable. On principle, he looked firmly at Franklin, who stayed calm. "But I agree with Trevor."

Tracey looked at him and she winced.

"You always have to ruin the moment."

Michael tapped his finger against the tip of her nose.

"It’s just a warning. And rather it’s not necessary, because nothing wrong will happen, right, Frank?"

Clinton tilted his head, looking slightly amused.

"Chill, homies. She’ll be good with me."

"Oh, yes," purred Tracey and her voice became suggestive. "Because Frankie can make me feel good."

Jimmy made a noise expressing the utmost disgust. Lamar started to laugh when he saw Frank’s face. Clinton was looking at Tracey with that specific stare and he was riven between embarrassment and complacency. Michael rubbed his forehead and he shook his head. Trevor tapped Tracey in the arm.

"I’m curious, baby," said Philips. "Tell me, what  _ exactly _ he can do."

"NO," protested Michael, Franklin and Jimmy. Lamar just shrugged – he knew or he didn’t care. Mike didn’t know what was worse.

Trevor and Tracey smiled identically. And yes,  _ that _ was definitely the worst thing. Fantastic. Just wonderful.

There were other voices in the corridor. Two women talked about something loudly. Or actually one of them tried to convince the other.

"Doctor Martinez will kill me, there can be only three people with the patient…"

"Oh, he won’t kill you," answered the second woman and Michael recognized Julie in her. "I bet that most people from there would clap your doc even with only stare, seriously. By the way, sweetheart, what is your name?"

"Katie," replied hesitantly the first voice, somewhere nearby. Michael looked at Trevor, who became angry from amused.

"Call me Jul." Oh, Michael wasn’t wrong. "We should go somewhere one day. For a coffee or something." Then the door opened. "Oh, you were right, K, that’s the whole procession!"

In the door stood Julie with a nurse. She smiled brightly. Her hair was loose and messed up. Actually, she looked… sexy. Michael once again considered, where Trevor got her.

Philips gritted his teeth.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he growled. Julie winked at the nurse and she closed the door. She ignored Trevor and she came to Clinton's bed.

"How are you doin’, Frankie?" she asked. Michael saw on Tracey’s face shock, indignation and… was that jealousy?

"Not bad, sis," answered Frank.

"I see," she laughed. "You looked like a piece of shit when they took you there. It’s good that you’re better now. Wait." She clapped his forehead. "Where’s my manners? Hi, Mikey." She clapped his hand. "Hello there, Jimmy, Lamar! And… oh." She stopped, when she saw Tracey. Slowly, bit by bit, on her face appeared a smile. "You’re Trace, right?"

The jealousy on the blonde's face switched into the surprise, when she shook Julie’s hand.

"Yes," replied Tracey. "And you are…?"

"Some jackass’ housekeeper." Julie waved his hand at Trevor. "Julie, if you like. I heard about you, but we didn’t have an opportunity to meet."

"Slow down, Jul," said Jimmy with amusement. "Trace is dating Frank."

Michael suppressed laughter, when he saw a disappointment on Julie’s face. Then the woman looked at Frank accusingly.

"You dick! How the fuck could you do this!" She winked to Tracey who was still confused and then she laughed shyly, what made Michael surprised. The world was going to end, really.

"Trust me, sis, you can be jealous," said Franklin and Tracey smiled wider and she sat on the bed again.

Of course, everyone forgot about the delayed fire bomb in the room.

"I asked you, what  _ the fuck _ are you doing here?" hissed Trevor's seemingly calm voice, which always announced an apocalypse.

Julie shrugged and a smile disappeared from her face.

"I came to visit my bro," she replied harshly.

"I told you to stay in Sandy Shores and watch the business," said Trevor and Michael saw that he was on the verge of exploding. Here came trouble.

“I told you I don’t fucking care.”

Michael winced when he heard screams. Jimmy almost curled up. Lamar deserted and he sat on the chair and then he acted like he didn’t hear anything. Tracey didn’t look at anyone and she was playing Franklin’s fingers. Clinton observed the arguing couple (probably he could intervene, but he didn’t want to).

"So who’s there now?!" screamed Trevor. "Wade and Ron?!"

"Don’t think I’m an idiot, Chef has an eye on everything!"¸shouted Julie. "And before I came here, I did many fucking things to make us clear, you asshole! And what do I fucking get? Not even one fucking phone call that Frank’s alive!"

"Doing things is your fucking responsibility, you idiot, and you fucking take my money for that!"

"Idiot? What a word, you piece of shit!"

Michael quickly grabbed Trevor, who wanted to attack Julie. He got a punch in the cheek and by a moment he saw the stars under his eyelids. But he didn’t let him go. In the same time Lamar took Julie, who had the same intentions as Trevor.

"Calm fucking down!" he growled when Trevor jerked in his arms. "If you don’t shut up, there’ll be security and…"

Uh, spoke of the devil. The door opened again and that was a doctor with two security guards.

"What’s wrong there?" asked Martinez angrily. "Screams and shouts and the patient should rest! And beside that…" He looked at all the people in the room. "Only three visitors at the same time!"

Michael looked at everyone too.

"Okay, we’ll go," he sighed and then he pushed Trevor to the door. "Get out. Jul, you too. Go to the fucking car and wait for me. If I hear any fights, I’ll fucking go home on a bus, because I won’t fucking stand this shit. Now go!"

He probably had an icy tone (he didn’t notice things like that), because Trevor and Julie went out without a word, only murmuring some goodbye to Franklin. Michael sighed once again and he turned to Martinez.

"Nice circus," said the doctor.

"Yeah, sorry for that," replied Michael, but he didn’t feel sorry. "Okay, kids, we’ll be in touch," he said to Tracey, Jimmy and Lamar. "Frank, we’ll visit you again soon."

Clinton rolled his eyes.

"I can’t fucking wait,  _ dad _ .”

Michael waved his hand and then he went out. He left the hospital with a heavy heart, because he knew what was waiting for him. He stated with relief that Julie got the wheel with a deadly serious face and Trevor was sitting on the backseat. Both of them didn’t say a word. Michael shook his head. Kids. He sat next to Julie and all of them rode to Sandy Shores.

xxx

"Cheers," murmured Trevor and he hit his mug to Michael’s.

He didn’t go back home and fall asleep. Not immediately. Both of them ended up at the Yellow Jack Inn. After they came back to Sandy Shores and Trevor was sure that everything was okay with the meth factory, he started talking with Julie like nothing happened. But Mike didn’t want to risk another fight and he took Trevor for a beer or two.

"I forgot to call Solomon!" groaned Michael Suddenly.

"You’re a shitty producer," told Trevor, but he thought about something else. Then he woke up. "What do you need filming for? I could take you in my business, we’re never bored there. And nothing plastic there too."

"I’ll pass," refused Michael and Trevor shrugged.

"Okay, as you wish. But you’re wasted in Los Santos and you fucking know that. Last night was proof."

Michael raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Yeah, fucking right. We both let Frank land in a hospital. That’s fucking the best proof I still can do it."

" _ I didn’t fucking mean it _ ," said Trevor emphatically. "You didn’t see yourself. You had fucking pure joy on face, porkchop. You killed these fuckers and you  _ enjoyed _ that. And that is authentic. Real feelings. People from LS aren’t like that. And that’s why you’re wasted there."

"Oh, please." Michael rolled his eyes. Trevor was telling that to the boredom.

"Do as you want, idiot. But if you’re bored, I can take you to the actions like that. You know, steal some goods, blow up a couple buildings, clap somebody, something like that."

Michael thought by a moment.  _ Sometimes _ didn’t sound that bad. He had his own obligations, but… he couldn’t do the same things all the time. His cyclic schedule of work-whores-sleep couldn’t be good for a long time.

"Fine."

And then there was the longer moment of silence. They just drank a beer. Michael thought about Franklin and that kid could be pissed because of hospitalization. But then he recalled that Tracey was with him and… Well, at least he wasn’t bored too much.

"Frank and Trace," started Trevor suddenly. "What do you think?"

Oh, fucking fantastic, now Philips was reading in his mind?

"I don’t know," he admitted. "But she’s mature, she knows what she does. And he knows he has to treat her properly, because if he doesn’t…" He shifted his finger through his neck. "I guess I’ll stay out of it. Tracey would kill me."

"Probably it’ll be okay," added Trevor. "Frank is rather a reasonable kid. It seems like he took care not only about Jimmy. Of course, no thanks to you."

Michael acted like he didn’t see the meaningful stare of his friend.

"Who are you and what did you do with Trevor Philips? Words like these in your mouth? Completely not your style."

Trevor laughed shortly.

"Fuck you, bro."

Michael smiled upon the mug. Then he thought about something else and the smile changed into grimace.

"Amanda will kill me."

"Why?"

"She’ll say that it’s my fault that Tracey is dating a gangster." Mike winced mockingly. "And I guess it’ll happen soon. She will know, she will call me and she will shout at me. And then she will go and search for comfort in that fucker’s arms, of course if she didn’t cheat on him with fifteen other guys."

Trevor tilted his head and he had a disbelief on his face.

"You’re still crazy about her!" he pointed with outrage.

"I’m not!"

"I’m not blind! You can be a fucking snake and a good actor, but you can’t lie to me!"

"Okay, maybe I fucking am!" Michael waved his hands angrily. "So fucking what?"

"So what?!" Trevor, God knew why, started to go berserk. "If you still care, why don’t you fight, you coward?! I doubt her boy made you piss your pans – or you’re a bigger pussy than I thought!"

Michael gritted his teeth. His hands curled into fists. Blood was pumping to his head and anger turned off his mind for a moment. For a moment, he wanted to destroy everything within a few kilometers. Maybe he would feel better if he did that. Maybe the emptiness, which he carried inside for ten years, would be filled, even partly. Maybe he would stop feeling like trash and maybe,  _ maybe _ , he could stop hating himself a bit.

And then he saw Trevor’s face, full of fascination. And no, he couldn’t be like him. Of course, he was a psycho, but he still had a rest of common sense to  _ not be like _ Philips.

"Because she’d be unhappy with me," he just replied. Trevor opened his mouth to answer, but Michael was faster. "That was earlier, you got it? We gave ourselves the second chance and I know,  _ I fucking know _ , that for the third time she wouldn’t stay alive. Or me. And that was the only reasonable way, the only with fucking sense!"

Trevor didn’t answer. His eyes darted away somewhere and then he drank a bit of beer. There was a little troublesome silence.

"Yeah, that sucks," said Philips finally, still didn’t look at him. Michael sighed and he drank too.

"So I’ll be alone."

"I was alone for all my life," answered Trevor blankly.

"Hey, you still have me," tried to joke Michael, but Philips took that seriously.

"I  _ had _ ," he replied, emphasizing the past tense. "And then you fucked me. Then I had Patricia, but she went away to that piece of shit. And then… she died anyway." He looked defiantly at Michael and when he didn’t notice any symptoms of surprise, he raised his eyebrows. "So you know."

"I know," told Mike carefully. "You still have Julie too."

Trevor rolled his eyes.

"Today she is, tomorrow she’ll find some chick or guy, or whoever. And then she’ll leave. Like everyone."

Michael didn’t have an argument for that.

"Right," he said then. "That sucks."

"Exactly."

And there was a silence again, this time with something unspoken. Trevor looked at him and in his eyes was something Michael couldn’t describe. Suddenly all of this became weird. He couldn’t stand that, so he stood up.

"I’ll go then."

"Oh." Trevor looked unmoved. "Don’t you want to sleep at my place?"

Michael shook his head.

"I have to go back to LS. And tomorrow go to the studio. See you."

He patted Trevor in the arm and he went to the escape.

"I’ll let you know if I have something!" shouted Philips behind him. Mike waved his hand.

It was still better than vegetation.

xxx

Michael wasn’t wrong when he said that Amanda would call him with accusations.

"Michael, do you know that Tracey is dating your black gangster?" he heard wen he answered. He winced.

"I didn’t know that you’re such a racist," he snorted, wanting to make her angry. He heard her indignant snort and he smiled mockingly.

"You know exactly I don’t care about that!" she shouted and he felt a triumph. "You know about them and you  _ let them _ ?"

"Yes," he replied harshly. "He’s good for her. And he will be."

"You’re kidding me! Our daughter with a  _ murderer _ ?"

"Well, I’m sure she has it in her genes."

He smiled wider, when he heard that he made her completely angry. Weird, but relaxing.

"You dick!" she growled. "Of course, I’m glad he took Jimmy from this fuckhole. And all of them can be just friends. But  _ dating _ ? Can you imagine, how…?"

"Look," interrupted Michael. "How many times did you see Tracey in love? No, but really –  _ in love _ ?"

"I don’t know!" said defensively Amanda. "So what?"

"So she’s  _ never _ been in love. Because she always was interested in a guy when he was rich, he had connections, he was popular or he could do something that made her famous. And I’ll tell you more. Yesterday, when I saw that, I saw for the first time, how she cares about someone. And that was Franklin. And he’s crazy about her too. I guess I’ve never seen two kids staring that much at each other. Well, not in LS."

The answer was the silence. Then he heard the frustrated sigh of Amanda.

"Perfect," she growled. "Why the fuck it has to be Franklin fucking Clinton?"

Michael smoked the cigarette, still having the phone near his ear.

"I told you. It’s genetic."

"Don’t piss me off, Michael. If that guy fucks her life like you did to me, that will be only your fault."

He shrugged, ignoring the fact that she didn’t see him.

"As always."

"Actually I have one more thing."

He rolled his eyes.

"Fine, finish me off."

"I’m not there for two weeks and you’re fucking playing with Trevor Philips!" she growled. "And you risk our kids and Franklin’s life!"

He felt sudden anger.

"You just said you don’t care about Franklin, you hypocrite!" he growled too. "Besides you left me not for two weeks, but for the whole fucking life! So what does it matter, how long that life will remain?"

Oh, strike. The phone was silent again. Michael hadn’t idea what feelings made it. Anger? Pain? Shame? Anything else?

"You know why I did it," replied Amanda, finally, and her voice was totally deprived of emotions, what hurt him the most. "Please, don’t hurt yourself. Or our family. Goodbye."

The silent click told him that Amanda disconnected. He barely stopped himself from throwing the phone at the wall. Except that he put out the cigarette, clapped on the chair and caught his own head.

"Fuck!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: whenhumansthinkofhospitality. Thank you! ♥

"Hi, dad!" he heard, when he opened the door.

"Jimmy! Come in!"

He didn’t expect that his son would visit him. After a bit of embarrassing greeting and chatting, Jim sat in the armchair and he looked around.

"It’s different than I thought," he said. "But it seems cool. Someone keeps the place clean, right?"

"I don’t have much time for cleaning." Michael smiled and Jimmy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, right, ‘cause you have  _ that many things _ you own, old man."

Michael leaned into him and he patted him on the head. Then he stood next to the bar and for a moment, he wanted to pour a whisky into two glasses. He mentally slapped a hand onto his forehead. He just put some ice into the glasses and poured some cola. Jimmy looked judgingly at it, but he took it without a word.

"So how’s your business doing?" asked Mike and he sat on the opposite of his son. Jimmy shrugged, but there was a small, self-satisfied smile on his face.

"All cool," he answered. "Frank has plans to go further and start an activity in Whetstone and Red County, because we have a lot of clients from there anyway. You know, some branches there. It was actually my idea. Lamar didn’t like it at first, but Frank got my innate flair, got it?"

"Oh, yeah?" Michael smiled mockingly, but he didn’t comment. He should let the kid be happy. And he was kind of proud of him. At least he stopped hanging around everyday and just smoking weed. With Franklin’s and Lamar’s help of course. Michael could hug them for that. "So how do you like working with them?"

Jimmy hit his chest in a significant gesture.

"We’re cool with Frank," he said. "He’s my homie for life. Of course it would be better if you and uncle T didn’t want to kill him all the time." He looked meaningfully at Michael. "But he’s fucking good in that shit. Some day one asshole came to us and started to argue. You should see Frank in action! That guy almost shit his pants!"

"Trust me, I saw him like that many times," replied Michael with a little laugh. Jimmy smiled.

"Psychos." For the first time that wasn’t an insult coming from Jimmy’s mouth. "I thought Frank would kill him only with a look! Sometimes I don’t believe that Frank is the same guy as my homie who is going out with us and dating Tracey."

Michael started to be alert.

"How did they start dating?"

Jimmy shrugged.

"Who knows? For the first time I saw them fucking on one of the cars in the garage." Michael had to have an surprised face, because Jimmy started to stutter. "Okay, pop, I’m joking, relax! I saw them fucking in Frank’s house."

"James."

"Okay, okay. They were kissing in front of Lamar’s house, okay? We had a little party there and they just forgot about whole fucking world! And I came then."

"Oh." Michael scratched his cheek. "And then Tracey blackmailed you?" Jimmy made a grumpy face and Michael laughed. "So yes. What did she say to you?"

"Nothing," growled Jim and Michael laughed again. Oh, that was funny.

"Come on! Tell me!"

But Jimmy didn’t say a word. So Michael passed. Then his son started talking about Lamar.

"I didn’t like him at first," he said and Michael had to agree with him. "I thought he was another asshole from the hood. Totally different from Frank. But then… he became smarter or something."

"Or you," added Michael, but he had to admit that from Frank’s stories, he hadn't a very good opinion about Lamar. He thought Davis was a naïve fool and that’s why they had to rescue him from that sawmill. And he didn’t like him at first too. But then it just… disappeared. The first impression? Maybe. But not only. Brad was a dick at first and he stayed a dick to the end.

"No, not me," protested Jimmy and Michael raised his eyebrows. "Okay, maybe  _ a bit _ . But he changed more. And we’re homies now too. Sometimes I’m with him more often than with Frank – you know, Trace and all that shit. And Lamar is funnier. I love Frank, but he could loosen his pants more often."

"Okay," said Michael. They were silent by a moment. "And you? Do you have someone?"

Jimmy made a face and Michael wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch him or to laugh again.

"Yeah, I have a lot of chicks in my car, pop. They  _ love _ our cars. And they love me!" His smile disappeared. "But no. I don’t have anyone."

They were talking for some time and then Jimmy left. Michael was in a better mood than usual for the rest of the day. Maybe it was because of his better relationship with his son? Maybe because Jimmy didn’t forget about him and came to him without gathering the money?

Or maybe because he was glad that he could talk with someone?

xxx

His phone rang two days later.

"Trevor?" answered Michael upon the newest scenario. "What happened? You need help with burying the body? Someone stole your cargo? You have to burn some house again? Or kill some family members? Well, I should find a while between two projects."

Solomon looked at him with an amusement upon his own stack of sheets. In his phone Trevor hissed.

"How eloquent, Mikey," he said ironically. "Did you think about that for a long time?"

"Not really, thanks. So what’s up?"

"Oh, nothing. I’m just going today to Tierra Robada. Business, my friend, pure business. You know, my new branch."

Branch, huh. Trevor sounded like Jimmy. At least, if Jimmy would sell meth and be a complete psycho.

"So what do you want?" he asked. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"Jesus, no'', protested Trevor. "If they see you, they’ll doubt the professionalism of TPI." Michael rolled his eyes. "Julie needs someone to see her car’s guts. Frank’s still in a hospital and Jimmy and Lamar have more work to do. You do nothing for a whole day, so maybe you come in? Julie said that it’ll be fine."

"It’s not a rampage," Michael hesitated. "But okay. Tell her I’ll be about four." He looked quickly at Solomon, because he’d had to leave work about three. The producer made a reassuring face and he nodded. "Fine?"

"Yep. See ya, Mike."

Michael put his phone away and he started to read a scene again. He was barely aware of a smile on his face. The trip to Sandy Shores meant something more than normal. It didn’t matter what he’d have to do.

At three, he said goodbye to Solomon. He drove to his apartment where he changed his clothes and he rode to Blaine County. He didn’t ride too long and he was a bit surprised. Usually escaping Los Santos at that hour was a bit hard.

When he arrived at Trevor’s house, he saw an off-road car with a raised hood outside. Julie was bustling around. She brought many tools. He got out of the car and he looked at her closely. She wore a top and shorts, so he had a perfect view on most of her tattoos. And not only tattoos.

"Hiya, Mikey," she started. "T told me that you know something about cars, so maybe that won’t be tragic."

Michael snorted and he looked at the car.

"Is that Mesa?"

She shook her head with a visible satisfaction.

"Crusader," she said proudly. He blinked.

"You stole the army car?"

She waved her hand.

"Damn old times. I had a Patriot earlier, but he died tragically. My baby. God, help his iron soul."

"Amen," said Mike and she smiled. "So where’s Trevor?"

She rolled her eyes.

"He’s gone. You know, he was really excited about that contract in Tierra Robada. He said he wants to do business also in Bone County. He’s dreaming about Venturas, but that’s a higher thing."

"He’d need some contact in one of the LV mafia’s" he agreed. "But Trevor is… Trevor. If he doesn't find a contact, he’ll try a rampage. Or inversely."

She laughed shortly.

"I guess you’re right. Come on, look at that baby’s throat."

They went to the car and stood beside the hood. Michael leaned upon the car’s guts and he narrowed his eyes.

"So what’s with the patient?" he asked. Julie stroked caressingly one of the reflectors.

"In the beginning it twitched a bit, like he didn’t get gasoline for a moment. Then, when that was happening, the controls lit up on the panel. Then the engine stopped. When I ran it again, everything worked. It happens only during driving. It starts and runs stable."

Michael pressed down a couple of cables. He was impressed how all of the parts were well-kept. And Julie had to fine tune it. She put her heart into it.

"You checked electronics on the computer?" he asked. "Some diagnostics?"

"I did. Nothing. It has to be something mechanical, but I still don’t know what."

He looked at her with appreciation.

"Girl, if I tell you you’re awesome, you’ll hit me?"

She smiled cheekily.

"No, but you don’t have to say obvious things."

Michael tilted his head and he hesitated. Damn, whatever.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "Because I guess Trevor didn’t give an ad that he needed someone to keep his house clean?"

"That’s a long story," she replied mysteriously. Michael raised his eyebrows.

"I guess we don’t hurry anywhere. Oh, by the way: did you check the fuel filter?"

"Yep, I even changed it not long ago. Then I took an old gasoline and I poured the new with a bit of cleaning agent. It worked for a while and then he started twitching again." A moment of silence. "And no, we don’t hurry anywhere."

They were looking at each other for a while. Then Michael leaned upon the hood again.

"Did you check EGR?"

"No," admitted Julie. "Maybe that makes sense." Michael leaned in more to look at other parts. "Do you remember how I told you that I was the seventh… roommate?"

"I do. But why? Trevor’s never been like that. Can you give me a screwdriver? I have to unscrew the engine cover."

She took one of the tools from the box. He looked at her again and she didn’t break eye contact. He leaned upon the car again.

When he was unscrewing the third screw, Julie started to talk.

"Okay." She sighed. "Okay. Then from the beginning. Well, almost. About half year ago I was running from someone who wanted to clap me. And don’t ask about details," she added quickly. "Anyway, then my Patriot died, some motherfucker shot it with a rocket launcher. And I, well, wasn’t in a good condition."

"A bullet?" guessed Michael and she nodded.

"It was some fucking miracle I could still stand. And I was running through Vinewood Hills, because they were everywhere on the roads. If I still think about it, I guess I was an easy prey for the animals. And I met only one – a sow with the piglets. She was running at me, but I ran away."

"To Sandy Shores?" Michael was surprised. "That far? On foot?"

She shook her head.

"No. To La Fuente Blanca."

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Everything made perfect sense. Patricia, who died of cancer and Julie, who appeared at the same time at Trevor’s house. And Trevor cared about Julie, except for regular arguments and fights. She, as his almost-copartner in business, not an ordinary maid. He, who changed his own rules. Everything led to one common point.

To Patricia Madrazo.

A sudden understanding had to be visible on his face, because Julie looked at him expectantly and he guessed she approved the fact that he got it that soon.

"You were at Martin Madrazo’s house."

"I told you not to say obvious things," she hissed. She looked distanced and nervous, saying those things. She was different from a saucy, dangerous murderer. "I walked through the fence. And then the security found me." Her voice became quieter and darker. "They want me to  _ beg _ them to let me live. They called Martin and he wanted to throw me away, to let me die. And surely he’d do that if Patricia didn’t come."

Michael realized that he was standing with a cover in his hands and he was looking at her without words. He suddenly rallied.

"You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to," he said with the highest reluctance, because, shit, he  _ wanted _ to know why Trevor was  _ like that _ . Julie laughed with a bitterness and she put out one of the plugs next to the EGR valve.

"It’s just the past, Mikey," she said mockingly. "Anything else. And I know I  _ can _ tell you that, because you have nobody to share. You don’t have any friends except for Trevor and Frank. T knows that story, Frank doesn’t, but if he knows, it won’t be a tragedy, because he’s okay. Remove the screws of the intake system and I’ll tell you more."

He felt weird, when she reminded him of his lack of friends. But it didn’t hurt anyway. She was right. Except Frank and Trevor he had nobody. Maybe Solomon a bit… and maybe Lester (in the past). Nobody except them.

A couple screws, couple parts, couple moves of a wrist and they could see the cylinders. Michael started to clean the sediment. Julie unscrewed a hose from the EGR system, put a valve into the bowl with the gasoline and started to clean it.

"So?" said Michael, cleaning the cylinders. "Say more if you want."

Julie raised her head from the bowl and Michael froze.

"I barely remember some moments. I remember like Madrazo told them to take me to the forest and  _ take care _ about me." Her eyes flickered slightly. "I’m sure they’d do many things before they kill me. But they didn’t do anything, because their screams interested Patricia. She came outside. She looked at me something like… I don’t know." She sighed with frustration. "And she said to Martin to ask their monkeys to fix me. He looked like he wanted to shout at her, but then she looked at him  _ differently _ and in one moment his face showed humility. Then I didn’t know that this sight meant  _ do it or I’ll embitter Trevor Philips on you. _ "

Michael laughed shortly and Julie smiled a little.

"And they fixed you?"

"They did. And then they closed me in a room guarded by a couple guys. I guess I could run away from there, but it wasn’t a good way. Outside there were still people I was fucked with. Fucking never-ending story, man."

She poured dirty gasoline to one of the empty buckets and she filled a bowl with the fresh one. She started cleaning EGR again. Michael was still working on the cylinders.

"And then?"

"Patricia started coming to me," replied Julie and she didn’t stop her job. "I wasn’t too nice for her at first. Oh, okay, I was a bitch. But she kinda… didn’t care. And she came every day. And she was talking. And talking. And talking. And then I started to answer her. She had something… different inside. She wasn’t like the others. So after about two weeks I trusted her. And she trusted me. I told her what I was going through and she told me many things about Trevor and Martin. When I promised her that I wouldn’t leave, she made me a pet sitter."

Michael smiled lightly.

"I bet Madrazo wasn’t happy."

Julie snorted.

"Hell, yeah. He was totally pissed. He wanted to throw me out, but Patricia used this  _ look  _ and he couldn’t just say no. So I worked there about half a year. They didn’t pay me, but they didn’t have to. I lived there, I was like a family member, I had shelter from guys who wanted to kill me. I didn’t need anything else. After some time we even started to joke about Martin." She laughed suddenly. "One-Ear, they called him sometime like that." Michael smiled unawares. "Good times."

She dried a valve and she gave it to Michael, who started to screw in all parts back. In the end he unhooked the battery and he let the computer adapt to the new working conditions. Then he looked at Julie.

"And then what?" he asked. "You met Trevor?"

"Something like that," she admitted. "Patricia discovered that she’s sick. The cancer was in the stage that nobody couldn’t do anything. When all was clear, she took me to Sandy Shores, of course with security. To the trailer, because Trevor lived there then. We came just to see a performance. Trevor gutted some of the bikers. I regretted not taking any popcorn."

Okay, that sounded like an old Trevor.

"He fell to her feet and he started apologizing?"

Julie shook her head.

"No. He said that the death of that trash was with dedication for Patricia." Michael opened his mouth with a surprise. That  _ was _ the old Trevor. "You know, that was the good moment to get out. But Patricia was so fuckin’ stubborn, so she sat and started to tell him everything. That she was dying. That she wanted him to be happy. That Trevor, as a  _ good boy _ , shouldn’t do  _ these _ things. And she was talking all these love confessions and he sat stunned with a face of a deer seconds before a car smashes him. She said that Trevor deserved better. And then Trevor bought a house and he got a maid. After coming back to La Fuente Blanca we’re watching what he’s doing – me with curiosity, Patricia – because she was in love with him. So the first of the maids he threw away. He tried with the second. She resigned. The third too. And the fourth. The fifth he fired. The sixth he killed, because  _ why the fuck not _ . I was surprised that Patricia wasn’t mad. And then I got that it was because she had an emergency plan."

"You," guessed Michael. Julie sighed and nodded.

"Me. I didn’t want to live with Trevor. But Patricia was dying and I knew that she cared about him more than she cared about Martin. And I couldn’t stay there after her death. One-Ear let me live there only because of Patricia. So I agreed. And… I liked her, you know? Madrazo should be dead, not her."

Michael nodded, not knowing what he should say. To him, Patricia was always a weird woman with a massive Stockholm syndrome. And it turned out that she had a huge talent to train the biggest psychopaths Michael ever knew. Well, except him, but it didn’t matter.

He connected the battery back and he tightened the engine cover. He snapped the hood shut and he looked at the woman.

"We should test drive it now," he said and she nodded willingly.

"Just wait, I have to wash my hands, they stink of gasoline," she said and he was surprised. "Oh, you know, I like her smell, but I have some… gentle cargo in a car. Damn, you’ll see. Just wait."

He blinked and then he looked through the window. He didn’t find anything interesting on the front seat. On the back was only a repealed cardboard. Mike opened the door and he looked inside, highly interested. And then he saw…

"Badgers?" he murmured.

Yes, there were two little badgers in the open box. They were crawling on the bottom and they often tripped over and turned over. But what were they doing there? They seemed like they still needed a mother. And milk.

Michael didn’t like animals too much. When he killed some on the road, he didn’t feel sorry. That was the natural selection. The strongest one survived everything and everyone. And surviving meant winning.

Besides that, maybe he could take one of them. But his hands were in a grease, oil and gasoline and that wasn’t good for kids like them. Julie snatched him from the big dilemma.

"Jeez, you’re the same as Trevor," she said. She had a pot with some liquid. Couple of syringes protruded from her pockets. "Nosy as fuck."

"Trevor knows? That you have badgers in his house?" he asked, really interested. She raised her eyebrows.

"He knows," she repeated. "And he knows that if something will happen to them, I’ll confiscate all his meth supplies. And then I’ll disturb his businesses so he won’t get it for at least two weeks. I told him he can eat fucking people, but if I see one of my animals on his pan, I’ll tear off his balls."

Michael blinked.

"You know about his cannibalism and you  _ support it _ ?"

"Jesus, are you even listening, Mikey?" She was irritated. "If he wants to eat animals it’s okay, I eat them too, but only dead, from the shop. Yes, that’s hypocrisy. If he fucking wants to eat people I don’t fucking care, and you know why? Because I love animals. And I hate people. And I don’t fucking care how many of them will die – it doesn’t matter if Trevor eats them, if they were shot or if they die on a natural way. And, besides, human meat is fucking distasteful."

He realized he had opened mouth so he closed it.

"Okay," he squeezed out. "All right. I didn’t need to know anything else."

"Pussy." She was amused quickly. "Can we go now?"

She took the box with the badgers and sat on the passenger’s seat, so he shrugged and he took the wheel. He started the engine and he was listening to its sounds. He didn’t hear anything disturbing. He shifted the gears and they started moving. Crusader was riding smoothly and it was comfortable to drive it. Michael started to whistle under his nose. Julie took one of the syringes and she filled it with a liquid from the pot. It looked like a diluted milk (or semen, but he doubted that she fed animals with it). She took one of the badgers and she started feeding him, murmuring something.

"Where did you get them?" he asked, a bit fascinated. Of course, he did that a couple times with dogs, one day he was feeding a cat, but  _ badgers _ ? Wild animals? Little killers? The relatives of wolverines? Well, never.

But they didn’t even look like their adult form. They were blind and totally helpless. And they were still crying. He looked at Julie and he saw her face – gentle, almost affectionate. Completely different than her usual mimic. He saw her laughing, angry, irritated or firm – but that was… a different person.

"I was going to visit Frank," she said gently, almost nose to nose with a badger. "Then my car was dead for the second time. I stopped and I looked under the hood. And then I heard them. Their mom was partly eaten about a hundred meters from the burrow. You know how fucking hard was getting them out?" She took a syringe from the baby’s snout. A badger’s belly was round. "I found three hungry monsters. I couldn’t get one from them. Sometimes nature is cruel."

She put one of the badgers to the box and she took another. And she started feeding him the same way.

"You steal Trevor’s syringes?" he asked with amusement. Julie snorted.

"It won’t be bad if he sometimes won’t get drugged up."

"I still can’t believe he let you keep them in the house."

"Oh, he knows it’s short-term. For now, they’re blind, ‘cause they are about three weeks old. If they grow up, I’ll have to take them to the forest. I can’t addict them to myself, you know. They’re wild and they belong to the wild. In nature badgers separate from the mother at around the second or the third month and after then I’ll leave them there."

"And they’ll be okay?" he was surprised. "If you feed them anyway…"

"An instinct is a fucking power, Mikey. Don’t worry, I raised many wild animals."

"I don’t," he replied with a smirk. "I just don’t know anything about that. You do."

She raised her eyebrows with a visible satisfaction. Soon she finished feeding the second badger and they were riding in a complete silence. The only sound was from the engine – and they listened to it.

"It seems like it’s okay," she said. Michael’s fingers tapped the wheel.

"I think so. But we should better keep driving. You know, to be sure."

She looked at him with amusement.

"Are you trying to flirt with me?" she asked and he froze. "The romantic sunset, Alamo Sea, mountains, blah, blah, blah?"

"No," he replied carefully. "Only if you want to."

She looked at him mockingly. She surely knew that he found her attractive, but she was rather pleased with it. So what?

"You can’t lie," she finally said. "I don’t know how you tricked Trevor after your agreement with feds."

"What? You know about that too?"

She looked in front of her with thoughtfulness. When he thought she wouldn’t reply to him, she started to talk.

"Trevor told me many things from his life. I told him things from my own life. Except that I heard much from Patricia too. About you and what you did too. Frank told me a couple things too. I guess I know half of your life, Mikey."

"And I don’t know yours."

She smiled.

"Oh, you know a bit. About six month with Madrazo and five with Trevor." He looked at her significantly and she giggled. "I’ll tell you a couple more things someday."

"I’m fucking waiting."

And there was another moment of silence. They were driving the road from Grapeseed along the coast of Alamo Sea. The sun was lower and lower and it was hiding between the peaks of the mountains. Trevor had told him that this place was beautiful. Well, maybe he wasn’t wrong. Wildness, but it had something engaging.

Desert. Sea. Mountains. Forests. All of these made Blaine County completely different from Los Santos. Of course, he still preferred to live in the city. But maybe it wasn’t that bad to rest there sometimes. Maybe he should think about a summer house somewhere nearby?

"You know, when Patricia told me about  _ the lost boy _ , I was sure that Trevor was someone to take care," said Julie suddenly. "Then I met Trevor and I thought he’s a cold motherfucker. But I started to live with him and… it’s not like that. He’s really hurt inside. Broken. Someone did that to him and not only once."

"Trevor?" snorted Michael. "Please. Trevor’s a psycho. He doesn’t care about anyone or anything."

Julie looked at him. Her eyes were cold.

"Oh, yeah? So, why, after your death, did he get that fucking tattoo with your name? Why did he listen to Patricia? Why does he treat Frank like a son and Jimmy too? Why do I know that he’d get killed for Tracey?"

Were they really talking about the same person?

"Come on! I guess you didn’t see what he can really do. It’s a maniac! Sometimes I’m afraid of him. No. I’m almost  _ always _ afraid of him. I never know if I’ll end up on his plate. Or my family. Because he’s like that. Cold motherfucker."

She shook her head and now she was  _ angry _ .

" _ You _ are a cold motherfucker, Michael," she growled. "You see just Trevor’s externals. You don’t want to see anything else. Everything he does it’s because… he wants to get people’s attention!"

Michael got his hand from the wheel and he started to applaud ironically.

"And he’s perfect in it, baby! He gets attention and then people get killed for it!"

"Don’t you fucking understand, idiot? He thinks they’ll all admire him! He didn’t want any fawning, he wants  _ respect _ ! Feelings. Friendship. Love. You really don’t see that?"

He laughed sneeringly.

" _ Love _ ? Are you out of your mind?"

She clenched her hand into fists. She had something ominous on her face, but Michael was too old to be afraid. He was a serial killer too. And her? Of course, she was a woman, but she was a fucking  _ dangerous _ woman. So it would be a fight for life.

"Michael, I won’t fucking stop myself and I’ll hit you," she growled. "Or I’ll take a rifle from the trunk, you want that?"

He opened his eyes to answer, but then the car jerked suddenly. Both of them were thrown against their seatbelts, when the engine stopped and the car slowed down. For a moment Michael’s heart was in his throat. Then he gently stopped the Crusader. He breathed and he looked at Julie. She seemed to be surprised too. Badgers squeaked on the box on her knees. Probably they were scared.

"Okay. So it’s not EGR," he said when he got back his ability to speak. She nodded and she started to calm the little animals.

"I guess if you start it again, it’ll twitch."

And it was the truth. Luckily, they didn’t have to worry about coming back to Sandy Shores, because they had less than a kilometer to the town. He calmed down and it looked like Julie too. He thought about what else they could check in the car.

"So what do you think?"

"I don’t know," admitted Julie.

"Did you do anything more inside it last time?"

She thought for a while.

"I changed the fuel injectors. And the turbine."

"So it’s not that."

He stopped beside Trevor’s house. He got out of the car and Julie went out behind him, leaving badgers in the car, who protested with discontent.

"It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here," she started talking to them gently. Fantastic, a woman with many faces. But he guessed they all were people like that.

He froze suddenly.

"The fuel pump! Maybe that valve is plugged?"

Julie looked at him upon the badger’s noses.

"Shit, right," she said. "Can you bring the jack? It’s in the basement."

When he put the jack under the car and he raised it, Julie gave him the box with badgers.

"And what do I have to do?"

"Hold them," she said. "Someone needs to look under the car. I’ll do it. You with your huge body won’t even fit."

"Hey! You too?" Julie smiled mockingly and he laughed. "Fuck you."

It turned out that the valve of the fuel pump was totally plugged and it had to be replaced. Julie emerged from under the car. She had a streak of a grease on her cheek. He would wipe at it, but he had badgers in his hands.

"So Trevor was right," she said. "You’re not that stupid if it comes to the cars. Come on, I owe you a beer."

He went behind her to the house, still holding a box with badgers. There she gave him a towel to let him wash his hands. She cleaned her hands and face too. She looked thoughtful.

"Where do you want your kids?" he asked when both of them were clean. She waved her hand and she pulled out her phone from the pocket. "Go to the living room, I’ll come in a while." She tapped her phone and she raised it to the ear. When he escaped the bathroom, he heard the beginning of the conversation. "Wade? I need a valve to a fuel pump for Crusader. Now. No, you dork, I have an anal plug for that."

Michael heard her loud laugh. He giggled with a surprise and he went to a living room. There he sat on the couch and he looked to the box.

"You have a crazy mom," he said. Then he looked hesitant at the door. Maybe if… only for a moment?

He took carefully one of the badgers. The cub squeaked anxiously. He was tiny and totally helpless. He started sniffing his hand and crawling. Another squeak sounded like he was calling his mommy. Michael stroked him gently on the back and the crying became quieter. He reminded how he swayed Tracey or Jimmy in his arms, singing them lullabies. He murmured something that sounded like  _ Bohemian Rhapsody _ . Badger seemed to calm and he started sniffing with curiosity.

Michael wondered how color his eyes were. Then he thought that he wanted to come someday to just check it. Before Julie would take both of them back to the forest.

"Wow," he heard Julie from the door and he jumped. Badger squeaked with a fear for sudden moving. "You don’t seem to be an animal lover."

"Not really," he admitted. "I was just curious. And he likes you the most."

She sat next to him. He gave her a badger who started to catch her fingers with his snout. She smiled and stroked him.

"I see," she said with amusement. Then she became serious. "Look, about Trevor. He’s really not a psycho."

"He is," he answered, but she looked at him harshly.

"No. Trevor is an old, lonely fool who has worse moods than a pregnant woman. But he’s not a psychopath. No more than you or Frank. I know you control yourself only a bit. You’re the same as him. And don’t try to convince me otherwise. I saw your pleased face when you’re killing those Armenians. Like a fucking fed cat." He opened his mouth to protest, but fuck, she was right. "And Frankie is the calmest maniac I know. Plus, he has Tracey." She wrinkled her nose. "Lucky."

Julie looked at him weirdly when he laughed shortly. Well, the fact that Trace was attracted to someone the same sex as her, made him amused. And he reminded Tracey’s face when Julie tried to pick her up.

Hilarious.

"But Franklin  _ loves _ Tracey," he reminded her when he became more serious. "If you want to say that Trevor  _ loves _ someone… Except for loving chaos and destruction, of course."

She put a badger on the couch and she patted him on the head.

"You’re an asshole," she said and she really meant it. "From what I observed, Trevor really loved three people."

He snorted.

"Bullshit. Who?"

She rolled her eyes.

"For example that one chick who died about a half year ago."

"Patricia." Right, Trevor was fascinated by her. Right, maybe that was some crazy, childish love. Right, they were like a couple of teenagers then. "Okay, maybe. Who else?"

She spread her arms.

"The most fucked mother I know – and trust me, I saw many mothers."

"His mother? That old whore?"

"Actually, the retired whore," she clarified. "Jesus, she came there one day. I wanted to smash her head after about two minutes of knowing her. I didn’t do it only because of Trevor."

"Okay," he agreed. "What’s with the third person?"

"I don’t know if anyone could be a bigger idiot than you," she said and he raised his eyebrows. "You know, I’m not quite sure. I think he loved  _ that _ someone in the past and he didn’t stop. Yeah, it’s something like that."

"Like what?" he asked with irritation. "Who are you talking about?"

"Idiot."

He doubted and his thoughts started to run.

"You don’t really mean… Frank?"

She sighed.

"No. Not Frank."

He felt some kind of a relief. But it wasn’t an answer.

"Then who? Lamar? Ron? Wade? Chef? No, wait. Someone from the past… you mean Brad? They were just friends. Well, Brad surely played for the two teams and Trevor would fuck everything, but…"

"No, you dork, I’m not talking about any of them." Hi sighed with relief again. Then he thought something horrible.

"Hey. You don’t mean…" She started nodding, like she would appreciate the fact that he finally understood. He straightened and he almost stood. "Trevor’s in love with  _ Amanda _ ?"

She rubbed her forehead, looking resigned.

"I’m speechless," she said. "I guess you beat every record in a stupidity." When he opened his mouth to protest, she silenced him by raising a hand. "No, it’s not about Amanda. And stop asking me. You’ll get it or not. I don’t care. And now I’m going for a beer and when I'm back, we won’t talk about that again."

She stood, leaving a squeaking badger on the couch. Michael hesitated and he raised him again and put him next to the second one. His head was spinning. Trevor was in love with someone? No, that’s impossible. He couldn’t see that. Maybe Julie was right about his mother and Patricia. But she was probably wrong about the third person. He couldn’t think of anyone like that.

He took a remote control and he turned on the TV. He zapped without thinking until he saw the red headlines on the local TV. In the same moment Julie came back to the room.

"…  _ police in the county say about a dozen victims of a drug cartel. Everything looks like a conflict with the Chinese Triads. The cause of the shooting was probably an incompatibility of interests. We’re still informing _ …"

"Trevor," said Michael and Julie at the same time.

"For fuck’s sake, what did he do again?" growled Julie and Michael shrugged. Suddenly behind her someone appeared. She was ready to punch him and she suddenly realized that it was Ron. "Jakowski, fool, stop hiding behind me, because someday I’ll kill you accidentally!"

"Whatever," huffed Ron. "Trevor, he… something’s wrong and he’s coming back from Tierra Robada."

"We know," said Michael. "They said that on TV."

"What did he do?!" screamed Julie. "We’re going to the airport! I’ll kill that dick, he can’t even finalize a contract! And he wants to have a branch in LV? Oh, no fucking way!"

The airport was near Trevor’s new house, so they were there a couple minutes later, looking for a plane in the sky. The mood was tense. Julie was walking around without any target, looking furious. Ron was sitting on a wrecked bus’ hood and he looked up nervously. Michael just smoked the cigarette. He gave one to Julie, who took it without a word and then she was smoking angrily, still walking. Michael offered one to Ron too, but he only looked at him contemptuously. Mike shrugged. He probably wouldn’t know why that guy disliked him so much.

"He’s coming," he said suddenly. Julie stopped and narrowed her eyes. Yes, Michael wasn’t wrong. There was a red plane in the sky, closer and closer. They were watching like it landed and stopped nearby the hangar. Julie murmured something, some murdering threats. Michael stopped paying attention to Ron. From the plane got out some familiar person who furiously came closer to them.

"What the fuck had happened?!" shouted Julie when Trevor was with them. "What’s with the contract? Why did you kill them?!"

"These _ fucking  _ Triads!" growled Trevor and he had fire in his eyes. His shirt was covered with blood. Foreign blood. "Everything was perfect and then some remnants after Cheng showed up and fucked the whole business!"

"You killed everyone?" asked Michael and Trevor furiously turned to him.

"No, I fucking left couple of them, because I wanted to open the second strip club!" he growled and Michael rolled his eyes. "Fucking Triads! They’re dead!"

"Trevor," started Ron nervously. "You already killed them. So they’re actually dead."

One Trevor’s sight was enough to make Ron curl up.

"Stop being a smartass, Ron!" he screamed. "Go the fuck to the trailer and remove all registers! I don’t need cops there! And call Wade, I need a blowjob! Faster!" Ron started running to Sandy Shores. "I said:  _ faster _ !"

Jakowski started to run, but his own leg betrayed him. Michael looked at Philips who was still furious and who stared at Ron. Trevor finally passed when Ron disappeared behind the tracks. Julie sighed.

"This is the second time, T," she said with an outrage. "If this happens again, we’ll have to fly to LV and  _ talk _ with Triads."

"Oh, I want to  _ talk _ with them very much!" growled Trevor. "Now go and start looking for anything about them. I won’t let go of TR easily!"

She rolled her eyes.

"I always have to clean your mess, you fucker." She waved her hands, but she went back to the house. "See ya, Mike!"

"Bye!" he replied. He didn’t want to stay alone with the pissed Trevor. It wouldn’t go too well. "I guess I’ll come home."

"Fuck off then." Trevor waved his hand. "At least if you don’t wanna massage me."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, you wish."

Couple minutes later Michael was in the car and he was going back to Los Santos. He thought that was a long day. He heard as many things as he didn’t know about what he should think.

Maybe Julie. What made her look for a shelter in Madrazo’s mansion? Shy did somebody want to kill her? Why didn't they want yet? It all looked weird and complicated. Well, she promised him to tell another story one day, but who knew? He wasn’t sure he could trust her at all.

And Patricia. If she didn’t react, Trevor would still be the same. He didn’t change at all, but he inclined his rules for someone. And that was unimaginable. One Mexican woman made even the biggest maniac to be on its knees.

He rolled his eyes. Or maybe not a maniac. Julie was right that Michael, Trevor and Franklin were the same. And wearing the masks was useless. But Michael knew one thing: no human meat. Even psychopaths had his own borders.

He rode the highway and he was whistling.  _ Bohemian Rhapsody _ was still in his head since he sang it to the badger. He didn’t even know why he thought about that song. A fortune?

He thought once again about two little animals in Trevor’s house. Did Philips do something with them? He could surely eat them. But did he carry one of them? Wasn’t he curious about them? Probably they were nothing. Well, irritating nothing. And all because of Julie. And because of Patricia.

He started thinking furiously when he was reminded about what Julie said. Trevor loved someone. Of course, in North Yankton Michael saw how he acted beside his mother. That was love. Sick and disgusting, but still love (and that fucking Oedipus complex).

He saw how he acted beside Patricia too. He didn’t understand why that love was reciprocated. Probably it was because of how Madrazo treated her. And then she had a strong heart. Michael smiled when he imagined the scene described by Julie.  _ Do it or or I’ll embitter Trevor Philips on you _ . Oh, if he only could see Martin’s face!

So it was sure that Trevor loved Patricia too. Who was the third person? Who did Trevor love  _ in the past _ ? What did  _ the past _ mean?

That couldn’t be Brad. He could pass, but Michael never saw anything. And Julie rejected him, so no.

Ron. Well, he toadied Trevor all the time, but it didn’t work otherwise. Even if Trevor accidentally fucked him or something. It wasn’t love. And Julie rejected too. It wasn’t him.

Wade? No, no, no. Trevor could care about him, saying about him like a child who was fed with meth, but no. He could use him to blowjobs or something, but no, definitely no. Julie rejected. It wasn’t him too.

Chef? God, no. He visibly was afraid of Trevor, but it wasn't a determinant, right?

Lamar? No, rather not. Frank was babbling to him one day that he had enough Trevor’s and Lamar’s flirting. But no. It wasn’t it. And Lamar didn’t fit the category  _ in the past _ .

But Amanda did. But when he suggested it, Julie was visibly woeful. God, no, that wasn’t possible. They  _ hated _ each other. In the past and in the present.

He blinked. One person belonged to  _ in the past _ . Lester. Mike knew Crest was bisexual, but he preferred watching teenagers (if he only knew that he’d ever watching Tracey…). But… Lester? And Trevor? Trevor who loved Lester? No, God, no. It was the same as the relationship with Brad. Michael would  _ see _ that. And it would be probably Brad more than Lester.

He rejected Franklin. Of course, Trevor loved him, but it was like a father-son relation, so something like Michael.

He rode from the highway and he went next to the first buildings of Los Santos. Who did Trevor love? Who did he love  _ in the past _ and he didn’t stop? Jesus, how many years meant  _ the past _ ? He guessed many. That meant Julie’s speech. But everyone who lived with them in North Yankton Michael rejected. Well, maybe except for the kids. But they didn’t classify. Who was that then? And how Michael didn’t ever…?

He suddenly stopped the car, when he realized something.

Oh.  _ Oh. _ That was so fucking  _ obvious _ . He wasn’t surprised that Julie thought he was an idiot.  _ He was _ an idiot. How could he miss that?

Trevor was in love with  _ him _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand Trikey begins!
> 
> Oh, and there won't be any romance between Michael and Julie, I swear (I love them as besties).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: whenhumansthinkofhospitality. Thank you! ♥

It was dark when Michael sat with a glass of whisky on a terrace. He was looking at Los Santos’s lights. The cigarette burned in his hand, but he didn’t bring it to mouth any time. Except that he was still drinking. Maybe the whisky could burn all his senses for a while.

He was so stupid. Finally, everything was so obvious. Why didn't he see that earlier? Everything,  _ everything _ matched. Fuck, people were right when they disputed his intelligence. How couldn’t he realize that all of that had the other side? He had the evidence just right there. Trevor covering his ass. Trevor hating Amanda. Trevor missing him for all these years. Trevor mourning him. And Trevor forgiving him. Oh, and a tattoo. That fucking tattoo with his name and date of his death. God, when he looked at that once again… all of that was so fucking…  _ intimate _ .

He took his own head and he winced. The cigarette fell down on the floor. Trevor was in love with him. It couldn’t be more fucked. And what could he have to do? Break a contact with him? Drink to unconsciousness? Kill him?

He drank the whole whisky he had in his glass. Then he filled it again.

Fucking Trevor. Fucking Julie who told him about it. And fucking Patricia who pushed Julie to Trevor’s house. Fucking everybody else. Why couldn’t Trevor fall in love with them?

Fucking him.

Of course, he didn’t care about anyone’s sexual orientation. He just preferred girls (except a couple incidents in jail) and he never saw himself as a homosexual or even bisexual. And even if he did, that wasn’t with Trevor. Christ, it would be some psychopathic relationship, full of love and hate.

He winced again when he realized he started thinking about them as a potential relationship. No, fuck, no. That wouldn’t happen.

His phone vibrated. He drank some whisky again and he put his phone from the pocket. Someone sent him an email.

**_FROM: jullion@eyefind.info_ **

**_TO: Mikey.DS@eyefind.info_ **

_ Hi, Mike! I’ll repair the pump tomorrow and we’ll see. Wade brought me a new valve. Trevor is still angry, we lost one cupboard in the kitchen. He’s crazy if he thinks I’ll repair it. Thanks for today. You're a fool but you’re okay. See you soon. Two monsters say hi. J. _

He saw a picture in the attachment. It was a photograph. Michael opened it and he narrowed his eyes to see it closer. It was… a badger’s paw. His mouth twitched and then he sighed and he put the phone back to the pocket.

It wouldn’t solve anything. Of course, he liked Julie; she was sexy. It could be easier if she would be in love with him, not Trevor. But no, if it could be a competition for the most fucked life, Michael definitely would be the winner. Fuck.

Well, he could act normal beside Trevor. But how could he do that, knowing that psycho was in love with him?

xxx

"Hi, Mike!" Franklin smiled when Michael came to his room in the hospital. "What’s up, homie?"

Next to the bed sat Lamar. Michael clapped hands with Franklin, then with Davis and he fell on the chair nearby.

"Fine," he lied. He was fucked up. "And you? How are you?"

Frank waved his hand.

"Fucking awesome, man. They could leave me."

"They could, nigga," added Lamar. "You sat with your lazy ass here and we need you in the garage, man."

Michael looked at him with a curiosity.

"You left Jimmy alone in the garage?" Davis nodded. "Is that a good idea?"

Lamar raised his voice about three tones higher.

"Oh, no, my kid is there alone!" he squeaked. "Poor young kid needs a daddy!" Franklin snorted and Michael smiled a bit. "He’s fine, man. He’s fucking fine. We all know who is fucking teaching him."

"Damn right," added Frank. "Me. And that’s why Jimmy’s doing great, man. But  _ that _ motherfucker worries me, homie." He pointed on Lamar. "He can fuck up everything he touches. ‘Cause LD has this in his fucking DNA. And who has to rescue him then?"

"That one grumpy pussy, man." Lamar bumped Franklin on the arm. Michael looked at them expectantly. "Okay, man, sometimes two old men too. Now we’re good?"

Mike laughed shortly.

At least he could talk with these two kids. Sometimes he didn’t say anything and he just listened. He didn’t know why, but that relaxed him. Maybe because Frank really was a son he always wanted? Or maybe because he hadn’t any friends?

Maybe both?

xxx

A couple of days later was Saturday. He slept a little bit longer than usual. The sound of a ringing phone woke him up. He found it on his bedside table and he looked at the phone’s screen, half conscious. Then he suddenly rallied.

"What do you want?" he wheezed when he answered. He heard the finesse pecks from the other side.

"You should finally stop smoking, you sound like an old lumberjack," said Trevor.

"Oh, bite me," growled Mike. "Not like you have an opera voice."

He pulled away the quilt off himself and he sat on the bed. His head was aching a bit, because he drank a lot of whisky last evening. He stood up and he went to the living room, scratching his balls.

"I just care, man," said Trevor, and in Michael’s mind, a warning light appeared. Trevor cared about him, because he had a  _ weakness  _ for him. Fuck. "Look, I’m making a contract tomorrow in Tierra Robada."

"Again?" surprised Michael. He heard an irritated sound. "I mean, okay, you didn’t do that then. But does it mean some of these guys survived?"

"No," said Philips. "El Quebrados is over for us. But some people from Bayside contacted us and that’s the bigger thing, porkchop. They have a massive port in Bayside, lots of ships to Hawaii, west coast of Canada or Mexico sails from there."

Michael whistled. It sounded like Trevor could earn a lot of money from that. Of course, if the Triads wouldn’t fuck that up again. Or cops.

"Awesome," he said without enthusiasm. "And you’re calling only to say that? Mommy, mommy, look, I’m so awesome, my concern will trade drugs at the international level! Are you proud? Yes? So you’ll buy me a dog now?"

"Shut the fuck up," hissed Trevor and Michael smiled mockingly. "You can scoff, sugartits. I just wanted to tell you that the only obstacle tomorrow would be the Triads. And that I need a  _ good _ sniper. But I forgot that you’re so overworked…"

Michael became more lively.

"Okay, I’ll go with you."

"No, no, no, no, no, man, you’re an old, overworked shit, actions like that are not for you," teased Trevor. "Better stay at home, because you’ll sweat and your tits will become smaller."

"Fuck you, man." Michael came from one room to another. "Because I won’t…"

He froze when he realized he wasn’t alone. In the armchair next to him sat…

"Hi, dad!"

"Tracey?" Michael was surprised. "Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here so early?"

She stood with a look twisting her face. Uh, something’s going on.

"I need your help, dad," she started, hesitating. Of course, what else?

"What happened again? Some stalker again?"

She snorted and she shook her head.

"No. After you clapped that one, nobody ever tried." He smiled. And then he realized they were a totally abnormal family. Who did talk about things like that calmly? And laughed at that? "You see, Frankie took my car to repair it before the  _ accident _ . And now nobody’s doing it. Jim and Lamar could, but Frank told them that he’ll do it when he’ll go back. He’s so lovely!" Michael opened his mouth to say something, but she didn’t let him. "And I’m without a car right now. And I’m free today, so I wanted to go to Paleto. Sometimes Jim and Lamar take me with them, but they’re busy today. Maybe you can?"

Jesus, why didn’t his life have only problems like that?

"Is that Trace?" asked Trevor on his phone and Michael realized he still held him near his ear. "Put me on speaker."

"For what?"

Tracey, still standing in front of him, raised her eyebrows.

"For what? To see Frank, of course!”

Michael snorted and shook his head.

"No, baby, I didn’t talk to you. Trevor – for what?"

"Come on." Mike rolled his eyes and he turned on the speaker. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Trace, baby, are you there?"

"Hi, uncle T!" The smile showed on her face. "How are you?"

"Never been better, sweetheart!" replied Trevor. "So, you wanna visit me today?"

Oh, no. Not that. Michael could bet that he would be implicated in that.

"I wanted to come to Paleto Bay, but if dad takes me there, I'll come to you too!" said Tracey and Michael patted himself mentally on the forehead.

"Okay, we have a deal!" Trevor sounded happy. "Mike has to meet me tomorrow anyway, so one day doesn’t matter. He does nothing all day except drinking, so maybe he finally can do something useful."

"Fuck you, Trevor," growled Michael. Then he looked at Tracey who was staring at him with fucking hope in her eyes. He sighed. "Okay, wait. I’ll just get myself together."

The girl smiled. God, he hated his life.

xxx

"So how are you doing after the divorce?" asked him Tracey, when they were riding to Sandy Shores about an hour later.

"Fine," he just replied. Better for her to not know. He didn’t want to let go of the situation when their divorce could affect kids. Even if they were adults.

"You don’t seem like ‘fine,’" she said and he froze. "Dad, how bad is it?"

"It’s fine," he tried to convince her. "Don’t worry. It takes time. It’s just fresh."

"I got it," she said after a moment in silence. "You know, one day I had a boyfriend…"

"Oh, which one!" he interrupted her before he stopped his fucking mouth to shape words. He winced and he looked at her. She wouldn’t seem hurt or something. "Sorry. That was shitty."

She shrugged.

"It was. Whatever. I wanted to tell you I know how you feel. But after all of that, you can find somebody else. And everything’s okay." When he looked at her, her face was glowing. "Maybe even the love of your life. I finally found Franklin like that."

Love of her life? Shit, she felt so much for him. If she wasn’t in love with Frank, he would cut his hand. He wasn’t just a crush. She was  _ in love _ with him. Tracey, his little Tracey, in love. The world was going to end.

"I guess I’m too old for finding the  _ love of my life _ ," he snorted. "And recently I thought that your mom was my love of life, you know?"

She sighed.

"I know."

There was a moment of shitty silence. And then he couldn’t resist.

"How’s she?"

She winced.

"I don’t know too much," she admitted and she was visibly frustrated because of that. "We don’t talk. She… doesn’t tolerate Frank. She’s mad at me. But if I have to choose between her and Frank… you know who I choose."

He placed a hand on her arm.

"Don’t worry. She’ll get over it."

"I’m not worried." She wrinkled her nose. "Well, almost. It’s Jimmy who’s talking with her. He told her about Frankie. Little motherfucker. But he told me mom’s okay. She’s happy. Forgive me – she’s as happy as she’s never been."

It didn’t hurt as much as he’d thought. But it wasn’t nice at all. Amanda made that. She went on with her life. She found what she wanted. And not with Michael. Well, that was good to know she was happy. God knew she deserved that.

Well, for him was a place in hell anyway. He could just start to adapt.

"That’s nice," he said rather dryly. Tracey shook her head. Bright hair rocked around her face.

"Don’t worry, dad. You’re cool – oh, you’re total dick, of course. But if you’re not, you're a totally cool guy. I’m saying objectively. Totally seriously. And you’ll find someone too, I’m sure. It takes time, as you said."

"Thanks, baby," he replied. He knew she said that only to make him feel better, but he felt something warm in his heart. "You don’t have to comfort me. I’ll be fine."

"I know. You always are. I’m just worried."

"I know. It’ll be okay. Thank you."

She smiled to him.

"It’s normal in family, right? Even in a family as fucked as ours."

He laughed shortly.

"I think so."

Through the rest of the road he was less sad than usual. All the time to Sandy Shores they were talking about Tracey’s college. She seemed absorbed by it and Mike didn’t know how that happened. How did she change from screaming almost-star to kind of reasonable girl who knew what she wanted? Who had a passion?

Franklin. Of course, it was him. Fucking magician.

They stopped in front of Trevor’s house. The first they saw was the host of the possession. He sat in front of the house on the old coach and he was talking by the phone. He was irritated. Well, probably pissed, because he was screaming to the phone. Michael shook his head, but Trace started to go to him, unmoved.

"I won’t fucking tell you the same thing one more time!" shouted Trevor. "Just fucking do that!"

"Hi, uncle T!" Michael had no time to stop his daughter. She stood next to Trevor, smiling slightly. She seemed like she didn’t notice his bad mood. "Here we are. Everything’s fine?"

No, no, no. Trevor would kill her. Oh, he stopped and he was still holding a phone near his ear. Then he put the phone in his pocket. He would do… Oh, God. And Michael couldn’t stop him, he was too far. He started to run, but…

Trevor smiled widely and he took Tracey to embrace. Michael stopped like stuck. The girl laughed and threw her arms around Trevor’s neck. He picked her up totally without any effort and he rotated her a couple times. She was laughing even more. Mike had a sudden  _ déjà vu.  _ He saw the same person, but younger, wearing a thick jacket, who was hugging and spinning a little girl in the same way. The puffs of streams were around their mouth and the snowflakes were dancing everywhere. Childish laughter and man’s murmur were the only sounds he could hear then. Something twitched in Michael’s heart.

"Fucking awesome," said Trevor, when he stood Tracey on the ground. "I've got a couple throats to slit, just a usual work."

"Life full of joy," she commented and Trevor smiled wider.

Trevor almost never smiled like that. Why does it make Michael surprised and… confused? He froze when Philips looked at him. His face changed and became neutral.

Michael stopped breathing. Trevor was  _ in love _ with him.

"Come in," said harshly Trevor. He didn’t smile yet. Well, almost. He opened doors in front of Tracey and Michael and then he came after them. "Wade! WADE, for fuck’s sake!"

"What’s up, Trevor?" Wade, who Michael remembered from stealing goods from Merryweather, leaned out from the kitchen.

"Make us coffee," ordered Trevor. "Alright, baby!" he said to Trace and she nodded. "Two perfect coffees. Oh, Michael…" Perfect, he reminded him. "Julie’s upstairs, she’ll tell you everything. And we’ll talk, right, young lady?"

"Sure!" agreed enthusiastically Tracey. Michael shrugged and he went upstairs. He heard Tracey’s talking, full of joy. It became quieter when Trevor and Tracey disappeared in a living room and Michael was in the foyer.

He heard a weird clicking. It was coming from one of the rooms, so he poked his head inside. The room was looking like a mix of an office and a bedroom. On one corner stood a desk with a PC computer and a lot of papers. On the other side was the bed, where Julie said with a notebook on her knees. She was writing horribly fast – it was her who made that weird clicking.

"Come in and don’t shut the door," she said, still looking at the screen. "That poor draft creates some kind of wind."

"Better say that you’re afraid I’ll wanna do something to you," said Michael.

She finally looked at him and then she laughed.

"Okay, you got me," she said sarcastically and he smiled. "So what, Trevor’s got a monopoly on Tracey?"

"Yep," he sighed. "He told me you’ll explain to me everything. I guess he meant all about tomorrow."

He hesitated and then he sat next to her. She moved away a bit, but only because something started to move between them.

"Be careful, it’s a fragile cargo," she warned and she put something moving from the pocket. In the next moment he held a furry ball in which he recognized a little badger. Couple black eyes flashed with curiosity when an animal started to sniff him.

"They’re not blind anymore!" Michael stroked the badger on the back. "When did they opened their eyes?"

"About two days ago," said Julie. "I think he likes you. That’s like a suicide. The other one is crazy about Trevor."

"Trevor was holding them? " Michael was surprised and she nodded. "And you weren’t afraid about them?"

She winced.

"Trevor could do something to them if he wanted to. But he didn’t. And if it comes to animals, he’s not that bad. He loves Chop, Frank’s dog. And it’s mutual – that pile of muscles always salivates when he sees him."

"From what I know, Chop would fuck anything," snorted Michael. "Surely that’s why he has good contact with Trevor."

She laughed without any embarrassment. Michael thought he liked her. It wasn’t a lust or anything – but if he could, he would sleep with her – but mostly he  _ liked _ her. She could be a good friend.

Julie moved her notebook to show him the screen of a tablet underneath. He realized he had a satellite image in front of him.

"Guys who made an appointment with Trevor, have a place behind the Bayside Hills, here," she showed him an area with couple houses. "The landing strip is here. You’ll get there with Trevor in a way to see people riding from the town. You’ll leave me earlier in Bayside. I’ll go from there to here," she showed him another place on the map. "I’ll cover you from the other side. You’ll stay in a heli and Trevor will go and do business."

Michael raised his eyebrow.

"Trevor and calm business? I doubt it. He’ll rather intimidate them."

"Whatever. We have to have that contract," sighed Jul. "You know how much money we can earn only from the Mexicans?"

"I suppose."

She minimized a view from the satellite. They saw the desktop. She had a photograph as a wallpaper. It was her and someone else. A young brunette girl. Both of them were smiling at the camera. Michael couldn’t see anything else, because Julie shut the notebook. Her face was inscrutable.

"Come on," she said. "You’ll go shopping with me."

He froze again.

"I’ll  _ what _ ?"

"What, you’re deaf? You’re coming or I’ll take Wade and you’ll stay here alone. Or maybe not alone, because Ron can come in, but you don’t really like each other, huh?"

He winced.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with that guy, but I won’t stay with him. That won’t end too well. For him."

She snorted.

"That’s what I thought, Mikey," she said with amusement. "So let’s go."

She ran down the stairs. Her hair was bouncing. He came behind her to the kitchen where was still Trevor's helper.

"Hey, Wadey," said Julie. "We’re going with Michael to buy something. You just keep an eye on them." She took two badgers from the pockets and she gave them to Wade. She made a threatening face. "But I’ll gut you if something happens to them."

"Okay." Wade seemed untouched. Then he looked with a bright face on Michael. "Will you buy me something?"

Michael froze again. Julie patted the kid with patience.

"We will, don’t worry."

She took Michael who still was in shock. She came to the living room and then she stopped suddenly in front of the door. He looked at her curiously and she put her finger on his mouth and started to listen.

"… So I told him that I like you so much – and he started laughing at me! And I told him you’re always good for me and people can just kiss their ass if they call you a psycho, because  _ you’re not _ a psycho. And even if you are, then you’re  _ my _ psycho, Uncle T, and I won’t let anyone laugh at you!"

Michael blinked and then he heard a hoarse snort of Trevor. Julie looked like she stopped his own laughter.

"So what did that kid say?" asked Trevor with the voice of a pleased cat. Something in Michael’s stomach jumped weirdly. He thought that was overwork.

"He said that I’m a psycho, you know!" said Tracey and she sounded like she was smiling widely. "And then he started to laugh again and you know how adorable Frankie is when he laughs? It’s a pity he does it so rarely. I can’t be serious then. He’s so lovely!"

"Lovely, huh," murmured Julie and Michael snorted. "Little bastard. And fucking lucky bastard.” She poked her head to the room. "Hi, Trace. Trevor, I’m going shopping with Michael. Don’t even try to look for me and don’t fucking destroy half of a house."

"Don’t fuck too much in the car," replied Trevor and Michael felt a sudden anger and he pushed the door open a little more to look at Trevor too.

"I’ll fucking hit you."

Philips raised his eyebrows.

"I’m waiting, baby."

"You won’t talk to me like that beside my daughter!"

"Dad, I’m mature." Tracey rolled her eyes. "You can fuck whoever you want."

"And you, Trevor, give Wade a breath," said Julie. "Because you’ll knock his teeth out with that little murderer in your pants."

Michael and Jul jumped back when Trevor threw a pillow on them. Julie closed the door behind them, smiling maliciously.

"How sensitive." Michael couldn’t stop the same face.

"Why do you think Wade lisps so much?" she snorted. "Move your ass, let’s go."

They went outside and they went to a Crusader nearby. Julie sat behind the wheel, so he sat on the passenger’s seat.

"Does it work?" he asked.

"Perfectly. You were right, that was a valve of a fuel pump. Thanks, man."

He smiled and he clapped her hand. She started to ride, leaving puffs of a desert dust behind them. They rode the main road of Sandy Shores to the escape from the town.

"I thought we’re going to the shop?" He was surprised. She wrinkled her nose.

"And we’re going. But in Sandy Shores they don't have good food. In Grapeseed they have a better one." He looked at her. "What? Business is business, but I promised to Patricia that I’ll take care about Trevor, right?"

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in a protective gesture. "It’s still so new and I’m still surprised."

So they rode to the butcher’s where they bought a lot of meat. Then they stopped at a grocery store and bought many things there too. Then they finally went back to Sandy Shores and they visited the convenience store. There Michael bought himself a pack of Redwood’s.

At the same time Julie was carrying a bag with a washing powder to the cash.

"Take marshmallows," she said and Michael leaned and took a pack with the sweets. "For Wade, because I won’t have a life with him."

They took to the car about half of a shop. Then they rode back to the house. Julie stole bummed a cigarette off of him, so they were smoking together. The hard rock music was heard from the radio. Something similar Trevor always listened to.

"Where did T get him?" asked Mike suddenly.

"Who?"

"Wade. I know they were living in LS at his cousin’s apartment for a while. But where did they meet?"

Julie looked at him thoughtfully.

"I don’t know," she admitted. "I know Wade has lived here for about three years. He started working for Trevor when he found him after the drug party in the desert. About his cousin… Well. From what I know, Trevor clapped him. Wade doesn’t know anything even now. Probably better for him."

That panicking pussy who Michael barely remembered. He wasn’t even surprised that Trevor killed him. That was the end of everyone who ever was friends with Trevor. Sooner or later.

"Yeah, well. Trevor."

Julie looked somewhere, thoughtful.

"It’s Ron who knows him longer than anybody else from us. Of course, except you," she added quickly. "And your Lester guy. I’ve never met him. How’s he?"

"Moody," was first Michael thought. "Completely cut off from the world. And he’s a fucking smartass. That guy has a computer in his head." Julie made another thoughtful face. "What? Trevor said something different?"

"That he’s a hysterical ass who wasn’t loved by his mom. And that’s why he started loving books and knowledge."

Michael chuckled.

"Probably he wasn’t wrong."

After coming back to the house, Julie asked him and Wade to make dinner. Michael thought that he didn’t do that for a long time. Actually… since escaping the North Yankton. Weird. Very weird. But… weird in a positive way?

After that he spent the rest of the day outside, watching what Julie was doing with badgers. Sometimes he looked at Trevor and Tracey who were still talking on the old coach in front of the house. He observed Wade too, who was shooting bottles on the fence. He wasn’t the worst shooter Michael had ever seen, but also he wasn’t the best. In some moment Wade leaned out the fence and started shooting at the coyotes nearby.

He caused a catastrophe because of that.

In a couple steps Julie ran the whole backyard and she got him off from the fence. Wade fell on the back. The woman sat on him and she started… hitting his face. Kid moaned and he tried to run away, but Jul was stronger.

"Don’t"- SLAP! - "even" - SLAP! - "fucking" - SLAP! - "ever" - SLAP! - "try" - SLAP! - "to shoot" - SLAP! - "animals" - SLAP! - "in front of my" - SLAP! - "fucking" - SLAP! - "eyes!"

She stood and she kicked him. He curled on the ground. "You piece of shit! If you like fucking hunting then go the fuck to that motherfucker Cletus and don’t fucking make a massacre there, you little shit!" She kicked him one more time. "If I ever see again how you killing animals somewhere nearby me, I’ll fucking cut your balls, asshole! You understand? I’m fucking asking!"

"I’m.… sorry!" moaned Wade. "I won’t! I promise! Don’t beat me! I’m sorry!"

Julie took a couple steps back with clenched fists and she tossed her hair back belligerently. Michael looked at her, dazed by that show and then he looked at Trevor and Tracey. His daughter was confused (but not frightened what he noticed with a little pride) and Trevor was smiling. Oh, of course.

"My girl!" said loudly Trevor and then he put a hand on Tracey’s arm and he sat with her on the couch again. Michael looked back at Julie. She sent him a murderous stare. Her eyes had a psychotic sparkle. Well, something similar to Trevor.

"What are you looking at?" she growled to Michael. He shrugged, for the first time feeling concerned with her. Shit, he finally knew why Trevor and her understood each other so much. She took badgers who were behind the tire of Trevor’s car and she went to the house with an angry face.

Wade stood up, still moaning. He hobbled to Michael with a face of a beaten dog. His face and shirt were covered in blood.

"It hurts," he said pathetically. Mike sighed and waved his hand to the kid.

"Show me." Wade crouched next to him and he offered him his disheveled head under his nose. Michael moved him aside a bit and he looked carefully. Oh, probably a broken nose. And a smashed eyebrow. Probably black eyes. Cut lip from his lip ring. Man, Julie could beat someone if she wanted to. "Beautiful," he said. "Do you have a first aid kit somewhere? And you should wash it first."

Wade’s bright eyes widened in a sudden fear.

"No!" he squeaked. "No washing!"

Michael blinked.

"You’ll have an infection," he murmured. "You want to die or wash?"

Wade sighed painfully and he looked like he wanted to cry. Not because of wounds – because the vision of the bath.

"Okay," he finally moaned. "A kit is in the bathroom, I guess."

Mike stood up and he started to go to the house.

"So come on," he ordered. "I’ll patch your face a bit."

A first aid kit was, in fact, in the bathroom. He disinfected and sewed all wounds on the kid's face. It wasn’t hard. He had to be ready for patching himself, Trevor, Brad or Lester in the past. These were the unforgettable things. After everything Wade looked at him painfully (about the hundredth time) and Michael (about two hundredth time) thought that the kid would look like a raccoon the next day. Or pandas. Or a piebald dog.

"Thanks," said Wade. "It still hurts."

"And it will hurt," answered Michael. "Until it heals. Ask Ron about pulling out the stitches. I bet he’s the only one who will do it gently. Probably."

He regretted his words, because Wade made his puppy eyes again. Luckily in the same moment the door opened and Trevor poked his head inside. Then he clucked.

"Don’t treat him like you’re his fucking mommy, Mikey," he said. "Wade, I guess you have work to do, right?" Kid stood up with a moan and he escaped the bathroom. "I’m going to Paleto Bay with Trace," he said to Michael. "You coming?"

"I can do it myself," said Mike. He threw away the gloves to the bin and he put the kit in its place.

Trevor came closer and he patted him on the cheek. Michael froze and he straightened. Philips had a derisive smile on his face, but his eyes said something different.

Trevor was in love with him.

"No, no, no, no, no, cupcake, The Raton Canyon is a dangerous place at that time. You think I let you go there alone? No, no, no. I’ll see you in a car in five minutes. If you’re not there, we’ll go without you."

And he left. Mike, after a longer moment, got back to earth. He realized that his heart was beating faster than usual. What the fuck? He wasn’t afraid that Trevor would molest him. It didn’t make sense. Trevor didn’t know that Michael  _ knew _ . The only consolation was the fact that Michael was a perfect actor.

Yeah, right.

They rode in Trevor's car. Tracey sat in the back and she babbled all the time. Michael didn’t talk much, leaving the conversation to the other two. Anyway, he forgot how extraordinary the relationship had Tracey and Trevor.

Philips always had a weird fixation on his daughter. Of course, he liked Jimmy too, but it was Tracey he adored the most. And, what was equally weird, she was pixilated to him too. Both Tracey and Jimmy didn’t care about Trevor and what he did. They felt safe with him.

And that couldn’t be said about Michael. Jesus, where did the world go? How the fuck could they think that Trevor wasn’t as bad as Michael? Incomprehensible. Completely without sense. Trevor ate people. Trevor murdered them without a reason. Trevor was usually drugged, he threatened people and terrorized everyone and everything. And he had the better moral compass than Michael?

Fuck. Everything was awry.

In Paleto Bay they left Tracey under the hospital and then they came in to visit Franklin for a moment. It was late, so they weren’t there very long. Then they drove the girl to the motel and they rode back to Sandy Shores.

They were riding in a silence. The only sounds were aggressive music on the radio and sand under tires. Michael thought that awkwardness was even in the air, but probably that was only his feeling. Maybe because he had that thought in his head.

That Trevor was in love with him.

No, that didn’t make sense. When Philips wanted something, he took that. He got that. And why for all these years he didn’t give him any signals? That he had a crush on him or something? If he had, he would do anything. For example in that moment. Nobody interrupted them, right? No pressure.

He realized what he was thinking and he patted himself mentally in the forehead. Jesus, he started going crazy. Everything because of Julie. Bitch made a mess in his head.

The music started to irritate him, so he tried to manipulate the frequency knob.

"I was listening to that!" protested Trevor.

"And it was pissing me off," growled Michael. He found Los Santos Rock Radio with satisfaction. He sat more comfortable in a seat. He finally could ride without any problem.

"You can go and walk back," threatened Trevor.

"Fine," growled Mike. "Throw me away. Guess who’s gonna shit on your doorstep."

"Well, not you," hissed Trevor. "You’re fucking gentleman, right? Like a dog in a fucking muzzle that Amanda put on you. And feds made the leash shorter. Now you’re a joyful divorcee who discovered his freedom. But you’re still a fucking egoist, Michael. Some things never change."

He looked at Trevor murderously. He couldn’t see his face very clearly in the darkness, but he could recognize a derisive smile. After all these years Trevor was still the same. And only Patricia changed him a bit.

He sighed.

"Would you expect everything to end like that?"

Trevor blinked.

"What’s that mean?"

"You know, me after divorce, you with a maid in a house instead of the trailer, things like that."

Philips looked at him weirdly.

"I’d expect many things," he hissed. "That we’d be living together in North Yankton until at least forty. That we’d be old dodgers and everybody would be afraid of us. That we’d die in a fight. That Brad would live, maybe Lester too. That you wouldn’t meet your stripper. But it was like it was and you were a fucking snake. And that was the thing I  _ didn’t _ expect."

He felt guilty only for a moment.

"Or you’d kill me first," he answered and Trevor shook his head.

"No," he said blankly. "Not you." What  _ the fuck _ ? Michael’s stomach twisted suddenly. Fuck, a thunderbolt would hit him if that wasn’t a proof. "Or maybe? No, rather not. Probably. Who knows?"

The knot in his guts loosened a bit. The relief was that huge that he laughed shortly.

"You fucker."

And then there was a silence, but more natural than earlier. They still heard rock from the radio, but not that aggressive as earlier. Actually Michael could say that the trip became more pleasant. The only thing he could add, was a bottle with a whisky. And maybe some stripper. Or someone to fuck.

Shit. He shouldn’t think about fucking when he had someone willing to have quick sex next to him.

"Someone’s behind us," said Trevor suddenly. Michael looked discreetly in the mirror and he saw two motorbikes.

"How do you know there’s something wrong!" he asked, but then one of the bikers blinked a light to them. Trevor gritted his teeth.

"It’s that fucking Civil Border Patrol," he hissed. "You have a gun in a glove box, you can use it."

"The other people you’re fucked with!" murmured Michael, but he took the gun. Trevor laughed and that laughter sounded like barking.

"Oh, you have no idea."

He stopped the car and then the motorbikes stopped too. The drivers appeared to the both sides of the car. One of them knocked at Trevor’s window. Philips lowered the glass down. A moment later he had a gun beside his face.

"Passaporto, asshole!" screamed the biker. The second one opened Michael’s door and he waved at him with another gun.

"Get out, you piece of shit!" growled second biker. "Davay, davay!"

Then a couple things happened at the same time. Michael jumped from the car and he knocked the biker on his side over. A moment later he was lying in the sand with a hole in his head. In the same time Trevor hit the other biker with his door. Then he gave him two hits. Finally he started smashing his head with his heavy shoes. Michael watched that patiently for eight kicks.

"I think it’s enough," he said finally. "He’s dead."

"But the emotional value…" Trevor kicked the body couple more times. "Priceless!"

Michael rolled his eyes. Uh, home, sweet home.

"You have a shovel?" he asked. "We have to do something with them."

Trevor pointed to the forest on their right side.

"I do, but we can get rid of them there too. We have to take them further in the forest and Julie's loving animals will have something to eat. But I’m not sure they won’t poison these motherfuckers!" The last sentence he screamed, kicking the body once again.

"I don’t know," murmured skeptically Michael and this time it was Trevor who rolled his eyes.

"Oh, you’re such a pussy!" growled Philips. "I tested that many times. Okay, fine, if that makes you feel better, Wade will come here tomorrow to check if something’s left there. And we don’t have the conditions to bury them now, and if we do this too shallowly, the animals will take them to eat too."

Well, in fact, that was logical. Michael bowed ironically and he waved his hand. Together they carried the bodies deep to the forest. Every rustle could mean wild animals lurking around them. Luckily, none of them attacked them. But only if they left the forest, they heard the mumbling sounds of the tearing flesh.

Michael sat again in the passenger’s seat. Trevor sat behind the wheel, smiling like a psycho.

"What?" asked Michael a bit grumpily.

"What a beautiful end of the day!" shouted joyfully Philips. Oh, Jesus, he was a maniac.

And the irony was that Michael couldn’t help his own wide smile. They all were so fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long! And I'm so sorry for Wade! 
> 
> And, of course, thanks for all comments, I love them!


End file.
